


Twisted

by BB_Rosie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Battle of Hogwarts, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dark Magic, Death Eaters, Evil Draco Malfoy, F/M, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, POV Hermione Granger, Second War with Voldemort, Slytherin, Slytherin Politics, Wizarding Wars, Wizarding World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9822707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BB_Rosie/pseuds/BB_Rosie
Summary: The breath escaped her lips in total shock as he shoved her against the wall. Before she could push him off, his lips crashed onto hers, in front of everyone in the foyer. Suddenly, he pulled away, giving her a smirk that sent cold fear striking down her spine. Hermione Granger was speechless...





	1. Chapter 1

**This will be a dark fic with weekly updates or more. Please let me know what you think!**

The silver Prefect badge shone proudly on her black robes as she strolled through the corridors importantly. Hermione Granger was not surprised to learn of her newly appointed Prefect position, but was shocked to learn of her contemporaries. Draco Malfoy had been granted the position of Slytherin Prefect, and to say that the knowledge of the undeserving ferret gaining such a privilege boiled Hermione’s blood, would be quite the understatement.

But there were graver issues to concern herself with that year.

Sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry possessed a tense atmosphere for all its students. The reappearance of the Dark Lord had, fortunately, been widely accepted amongst the magical community; the Ministry of Magic didn’t deny it anymore, which was a start. Hermione believed that both ignorance and acknowledgement had their advantages, but in this case, awareness served her cause better than ignorance.

The brewing dangers in the wizarding world could almost be tasted in the tension of the castle. Almost all students and professors were in a constant state of unease, as though Voldemort would simply jump out of a statue and spook them. As silly as it sounded, Hermione had similar dreams at times. She knew it was a manifestation of her own fears and anxieties. While she was brave, she was no fool; Hermione was afraid. But she dismissed her dread, because to dwell on it would bring no comfort or answers whatsoever. Hermione found comfort in answers, they went hand in hand. And answers were found in the pages she desperately clutched to her chest.

Hermione was late to Ancient Ruins, which wasn’t like her at all. But when nature called, she couldn’t keep up her punctuality. The girls’ lavatory on the fourth floor beckoned to her. As she neared, her pace quickened. She turned a corner and _oomph!_ She collided with a brick wall in the shape of a body, clad in a white school shirt and tight-fitted black jumper.

“Sorry,” muttered Hermione. She took a step away from the defined muscles in her line of sight; she could see the definition through the fabric of the jumper.

Looking up, her apologetic expression hardened. Draco Malfoy, her fellow Prefect, stood there – she had walked into him. Malfoy stared down at her with such cruelty in his steely eyes she felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine.

He had one hand in his pocket and one hand holding a textbook by his side. His stony face could’ve been considered handsome until they twisted into a hateful sneer. Hermione stiffened and stood tall.

“I’ll have to burn this now,” Malfoy spat, glancing down at his jumper. “Do you know how much this material costs, mudblood?”

Hermione barked a false laugh. “More than a semblance of respect will cost you, Malfoy.”

“Respect,” he repeated disdainfully. “Something you should learn.”

His tone had deepened into something … frightening and dangerous. Hermione didn’t show it in her fierce brown eyes or her calm expression, but she suddenly recalled Harry’s suspicions about Malfoy that year. Harry had been attacked by Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, and was sure that he had taken the Dark Mark. Hermione didn’t agree, but as Malfoy stared down at her with mercurial eyes … she felt uneasy.

The door to the right swung open. Blaise Zabini stepped out of the boys’ lavatory and into the corridor. Malfoy had obviously been waiting for his friend when Hermione had walked into him.

“Granger,” Zabini greeted pompously, fiddling with his smooth black hair.

Hermione was taken aback and it showed on her slack expression. Zabini and she had never uttered a single word to each other over their shared years at Hogwarts. And now he was greeting her in the corridor as if they were acquainted?

“C’mon Blaise,” Malfoy growled, staring down at Hermione still. “We’re late for Ancient Ruins.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course he would be in the same classes she was. He was a top student, and almost reached her impeccable grades. But she was better. She always strived to be the best.

“Excuse me,” Hermione snapped, waiting for Malfoy to step out of the way. She still desperately needed to use the toilet before class.

He smirked before stepping to the side, closer to Zabini. Hermione eyed him warily as she made to walk to the girls’ lavatory, but flinched as his hand reached out to her face.

Hermione gasped. “What are you doing?”

Malfoy’s hand hovered in front of her face, motionless. He smirked and used his thumb to brush over her forehead. He then showed her his thumb, stained with ink.

“You’re dirty enough as it is,” he mocked darkly.

“Wonderful,” commented Zabini. He was bored. “May we leave now?”

Malfoy nodded but stared into Hermione’s perplexed eyes for a moment longer. She had trouble breathing, she realised. It took her a second to figure out why – she was … afraid of him. There was something different about Malfoy that year. Harry had been right. Malfoy was surrounded by a dark aura, his body had lengthened and thickened with muscles, his eyes had hardened and the silver swarmed there. Again she shivered involuntary. He laughed darkly and swept down the corridor with Zabini.

Hermione turned and watched them go. She was perplexed and reeling from the encounter. But Malfoy stepped down the corridor without a care in the world, like their interaction hadn’t even happened.

A pang in her bladder reminded her that she required a toilet. Dismissing her unease as nervousness for the brewing war, she turned and went to the girls’ lavatory. She went about her business and tossed all thoughts of Draco Malfoy into the garbage where they belonged.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**I’m new to this so I welcome constructive criticism if you have any. Your reviews and follows make me blush!**

**I won’t abandon. Third chapter is on its way.**

Hermione sat at the long table with Ron and Harry. Study Hall was her favourite room in the castle, second to the library. Madam Pince oversaw the sixth year students studying at the tables – she sat at her own desk and faced the others: Yet, Pince was more interested in reading her book than observing the students.

Harry rested his chin on his hand and stared down at his stack of parchment. He was supposed to be working on his Potions essay, but was lost in thought. He always was lately – he was constantly pondering. Ron didn’t write his essay either; he doodled moving sketches of a Quidditch game. As usual, Hermione was the only one in the trio to pay attention to her homework. But … she wasn’t paying as much attention as she used to.

Malfoy sat with Zabini a few tables ahead, and both kept looking up at her at random intervals. She could feel it whenever they looked at her, and her eyes snapped up every time. The Slytherins didn’t even have the decency to deflect their stares and pretend they hadn’t been looking at her at all. They just … kept staring. Hermione was ashamed to admit it – she looked away first, every time.

There was something unnerving about Malfoy that year. Zabini too, but Hermione didn’t know him well enough to identify any changes. All she noticed was that he was suddenly acknowledging her existence, whereas before he only ever acknowledged his own existence in the reflection of windows, shimmery goblets, silver plates and mirrors.

Merlin – She was staring at them again, and they stared right back at her. Malfoy’s light blonde hair was tousled and hung down his forehead, she noticed. Suddenly, Hermione blinked a few times. She then cleared her throat, a little flushed, and shuffled her stack of parchment. Zabini and Malfoy whispered between themselves, but Malfoy’s steely eyes bore right into her reddened face.

“Ahem,” uttered Hermione. She ignored the Slytherins across the Hall. “Harry, the Potions essay is due in the morning. You really should–”

Harry almost flinched, “What?” He looked up at her as though just realising she was there … Or just realising that he was there, in Study Hall. “Oh, sorry, ‘Mione. What were you saying?”

“Only that you need to focus on your homework, instead of daydreaming,” said Hermione. “It’s due tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” sighed Harry. He rested his tired face in his hands and groaned quietly.

Hermione smiled sympathetically and reached over to place her hand on his. “I know,” she whispered. “With everything Dumbledore wants you to do – it’s a wonder you’re still able to manage. But you can do this, Harry. The Horcruxes are important to find and destroy … but right now, you’re at Hogwarts and need to –”

“Hermione, I wasn’t thinking about that,” interrupted Harry.

Hermione’s face fell. When Harry wasn’t thinking about the Horcruxes and his dreams, he was thinking about his Malfoy conspiracies.

Ron came to the same conclusion and groaned, “Give a rest, mate. Malfoy’s an arse, not a bloody Death Eater.”

“Ron’s right,” she said. “Malfoy will always be a prat, but that’s all he is.” – Even as she said the words she didn’t completely believe them herself. – “Besides, he’s too young to be a Death Eater. What would Voldemort want with a sixteen-year-old mummy’s boy?”

“I don’t know yet,” replied Harry bitterly. “I’ve been watching him on the Marauder’s Map. Every night he wanders around the castle, and then he disappears. He’s up to something, guys. I know it.”

Hermione arched her brow and her honey brown eyes swirled with impatience. “You want to know what I think?” – The look on Harry’s face said ‘no’, but she carried on. “I think you hate Malfoy, like the rest of the general population. This is some deep-seeded hatred manifesting as a vendetta. There are lots of important things to obsess over, Harry. This isn’t one of them.”

His eyes burned into her face – not Harry’s, but Malfoy’s. She could feel it. She tried her best to ignore it, but her body reacted. Adrenaline and nervousness climbed up her throat, making it hard to swallow. He was so far away that he couldn’t possibly hear their conversation, but he watched her. Hermione could agree that Malfoy was different that year. Something had switched inside of him. There were many changes: Physically, he had become a man; his body had filled out with muscles. He was scarier now – an intimidating man, as opposed to the bullying child he had once been. But that didn’t make him a Death Eater. Malfoy was likely angrier because of his father’s imprisonment at Azkaban. That’s all it was.

Harry didn’t speak. He was angry, that much she could tell by his wrinkled lips pressed tightly together into a thin line. His green eyes peered at her over the rim of his glasses. He watched her become lost in thought and involuntarily glance at Malfoy across Study Hall.

“What aren’t you telling me?” asked Harry sternly.

“I’m worried about you,” she sighed. It wasn’t a lie. “You’re spending your time watching Malfoy’s name move around a map, when you could be studying, or better – you could be focusing on what Dumbledore wants you to do. You could be concentrating on your occlumency skills to keep those dreams away, Harry. Instead, you fixate on someone who isn’t worth a single thought.”

Ron grunted and nodded his head. Harry scoffed. The conversation fell with that.

Hermione had the opportunity – right then and there – to tell Harry about her encounter with Malfoy one week ago. She didn’t mention a single word of it. Telling Harry about Malfoy’s odd behaviour and his constant stares would only feed Harry’s obsession. Hermione wanted her friend to focus on more important problems. Harry was having enough trouble concentrating on school work and keeping a level head. He tended to act on impulse, and it sometimes got people hurt. It wasn’t Harry’s fault, but he was ruled by his heart and emotions. She occasionally needed to protect him, even if from himself.

“Hello,” a dreamy voice greeted. The trio glanced up and saw Luna, standing beside Hermione. “May I join you?”

A mumble of ‘yeahs’ coursed through the trio. Luna smiled tranquilly and sat down beside Hermione. She placed a copy of _The Quibbler_ on the table, clasped her hands on her lap, and smiled at Ron’s drawings.

“You’re very creative,” commented Luna.

Ron grumbled a response and continued to sketch a graphic image of Malfoy repeatedly getting whacked off his broom by a string of bludgers and quaffles.

“I like to draw sometimes,” said Luna distractedly. “Mostly nargles.”

“That’s great, Luna,” Hermione said robotically. Most of what Luna said, Hermione tuned out. Luna could say there was a dragon rampaging around the castle and Hermione probably wouldn’t hear it.

Ron glanced at his watch before nudging Harry. “We should go, mate.”

Harry and Ron packed up their belongings.

“Where are you off to?” asked Hermione curtly. “You both have a lot of homework to get through.”

“Quidditch practice,” said Harry sheepishly. He swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Do you think Quidditch is … necessary this year?” Hermione asked tellingly. She couldn’t outright say that Quidditch was insignificant in comparison to Horcrux hunting and Occlumency practice, because Luna was there.

“Quidditch is always necessary,” Harry smiled tightly. He and Ron left, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Boys,” Luna smiled. “Their priorities are confusing.”

Hermione frowned and nodded. For once, she could agree with Luna on something. What was happening to the world?

The world quickly corrected itself as Luna gazed at the ceiling dreamily. Hermione eyed her curiously before she shook her head and returned to her essay. They sat like that for a while, one daydreaming, one studying. Then the scrape of a chair interrupted their silence. Hermione looked up and saw that Malfoy had seated himself in Harry’s chair, across from Hermione. Zabini perched himself on the edge of the table and picked at lint from his pristine, expensive robes, looking bored and superior.

“Can I help you?” Hermione bit bluntly. Zabini didn’t look at her, but Malfoy’s mercurial eyes bore right into her. Her defences raised even further, yet Luna was still lost in her daydream.

“As a matter of fact, you can,” said Malfoy icily. Again, that blasted pang of fear clenched within her. She tried to ignore it and pretend to be perfectly at ease, if not a little impatient and bored.

“And what could I possibly do for you, Malfoy?” asked Hermione.

Malfoy smirked coldly and leaned back in his chair. His smirk didn’t reach his icy eyes – Those steely silver eyes were as cold as a snowy winter night. His black cardigan was unbuttoned, showing his expensive white shirt that clung to his torso flatteringly, and his Slytherin tie drooped informally. She didn’t look directly, but she could see it in her peripheral vision. The contrast was great – Her cardigan was buttoned, her tie was fastened at her shirt collar, and her uniform was prim and proper.

Her finger twitched – she ached to wipe at her face to make sure she had no ink stains like last time they had spoken to one another. Instead, she used her fingers to discreetly slip out her wand from her skirt pocket beneath the table. As her delicate finger clasped around the wood, she felt a rush of security.

“Are you hard of hearing, Malfoy?” asked Hermione politely. Her tone was polite, but her chocolate eyes shot daggers into his unyielding gaze. Her wand helped. “What do you want?”

His smirk remained intact. He was enjoying her impatience. He liked to watch her squirm.

“Draco,” reprimanded Zabini dully. “I do loathe uncomfortable silences.”

“I merely wanted to ask a question,” purred Malfoy. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at the seductive tone of his voice – seductive and cruel.

“Then ask it already.”

His smirk twisted into a wide grin. It startled her. It was the grin of a menacing wolf, painted on the face of an aristocrat.

“I have been assigned to Prefect rounds this Saturday in Hogsmeade,” he explained. “I checked the schedule, and realised that you, too, are on patrol that day. I am interested in acquiring a few books from Tomes and Scrolls, and was wondering if you would care to come with me.”

If Hermione had been drinking pumpkin juice, Malfoy would be wearing it. She sputtered in complete shock and stared disbelievingly at him. He remained cool and poised with his grin still intact.

“Excuse me?” spat Hermione, outraged.

“Are you hard of hearing, mudblood?” he quipped.

“How dare you,” she seethed through clenched teeth. “You have the audacity to approach me, insult me, waste my time with nonsense, and call me a mudblood?”

Malfoy exhaled heavily and entwined his fingers together. He looked deep in thought as he glanced up at the ceiling. Slowly, he nodded and met her bewildered and furious eyes. “Yes, that about sums it up.”

A feral sneer wiped across Hermione’s lips. “No, Malfoy. I do not accept your invitation, but while you’re down there in the bookshop, maybe you could use that time to educate yourself on basic manners and acceptable conduct. Just a suggestion.”

Hermione stood from her chair, which toppled over, and gathered her things. Luna stood, too, and wore a tranquil – yet confused – expression.

“You know,” chimed Luna. “I saw an etiquette book in Tomes and Scrolls last weekend. I believe it was on the third shelf.”

Hermione knew Luna didn’t mean to be malicious, but she appreciated the comment. Zabini snorted and almost laughed, but Malfoy’s icy stare silenced him. Zabini swiftly returned to fixing his slick black hair combed to the side, and winked at Luna.

Hermione swung her bag over her shoulder and glowered scathingly at Malfoy. He didn’t flinch, but he stared coolly back at her.

“You are a terrible Prefect,” he smirked. His smirk was forced this time, and its cruelty was clear.

“Pardon?” asked Hermione. Her wand was still gripped firmly in her hand.

“You are not on patrol Saturday,” he sighed tediously. “However, I am. And I would prefer to not be.”

“You’re asking me if I will trade patrol nights with you,” said Hermione, understandingly.

“No,” he bit. “Not trade – I want you to take my Saturday patrol out of the kindness of your lioness heart.”

“And I want freedom for house elves,” she smiled smugly. “But with people like you in the world, it doesn’t seem likely. Try someone else, Malfoy – I don’t live to please you.”

Malfoy glared scathingly at her. Hermione only hummed in a very Umbridge-like manner. It felt good to have one up on the prat. Too good.

“Come on, Luna,” said Hermione, stepping over her tumbled chair.

Luna grabbed her things, and joined Hermione before Zabini spoke, “See you around, Lovegood.”

Luna smiled at him before she followed a bewildered Hermione to the doors.

Before Hermione barged through the doors, she spared one last glance over her shoulder. Malfoy simply sat there, looking over his shoulder at her, too. And he smirked. Cruelly and evilly – as though he knew something she didn’t.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The corridors were quiet midday. Most students were in class, or in the library. That’s where Hermione was headed to spend her free period. One may label that as predictable, but she perceived it as part of her routine which she cherished greatly. Her routine and diligence attributed to the label of Brightest Witch of her Age, after all.

Ronald was in Care of Magical Creatures; Hermione had chosen not to take the subject that year. Harry had slept late, again; he’d been with Dumbledore all through the night. Thus, Hermione was alone in journey to the library. It mirrored how she felt at times that year. Harry and Ron shared all their classes together, shared their meals together, shared their Quidditch practices and games together. Hermione, on the other hand, spent most of her time alone in the library, study hall, and her more advanced classes. With guilt, she could admit to feeling … _excluded_ from the trio for the first time since first year. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It wasn’t Harry’s, who had a pile of problems to manage daily. It wasn’t Ron’s, who was as oblivious as a brick wall. It wasn’t hers, either; she simply wanted to succeed in her year at Hogwarts academically, and assist Harry whenever possible. But the individual focuses of each member of the trio undeniably caused separation and slight cracks.

Full disclosure – Hermione felt robbed. She and Ron had been blossoming over the years, together. Hermione had half expected a budding romance to occur between them. But they were months into the school year, and nothing had happened. He carried on with his chess and Quidditch, and she trudged on with her homework and helping Harry. The best way for her to cope with – or ignore – her woes about Ron was to lose herself in the library books. It was her escape – her nirvana. So that is where she went, even when she didn’t have to.

As she rounded the corner, a forgotten issue sprung to mind. Ahead in the corridor was Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy. They were having what looked like a heated discussion. They didn’t notice Hermione’s arrival; she stood there, uneasily, and observed their odd behaviour.

Snape had Malfoy against the wall by the collar of his robes. The Professor hissed silent words into the aristocrat’s face, but Malfoy didn’t look fazed. Malfoy merely muttered quiet words before he slowly turned to face Hermione. She tensed and panicked slightly, which showed in her startled eyes. Snape followed Malfoy’s gaze to Hermione and sneered at her.

Snape released Malfoy and stepped away, and they both stared her down. Hermione swallowed and clutched her books closer to her bosom. The iciness of their eyes stabbed into her like jagged daggers. She had intruded on something private, that much was obvious.

Confidently, Hermione ignored their hostility and walked down the corridor. She walked right by them without a glance. But they stared at her, and she could feel their eyes burning into her back as she disappeared down another corridor.

Before long, she arrived at the library and submerged herself in the deepest shelves of the oldest literature. Her favourite nook in the library was a quiet spot in the Ancient Runes section, with a window and a little desk pushed against it. She set up her station at the desk and took a few tomes from the shelves. She quickly became engrossed in her studies, and didn’t notice the Slytherin appear behind her twenty minutes later.

Blaise Zabini leaned against the shelf, crossed his ankles and folded his arms over his chest. He studied the back of the Gryffindor in silence for a while and she remained none the wiser. Eventually he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Startled, Hermione whipped around in the chair to face him. She gaped at the pristine Slytherin before she composed herself and became wary.

“Zabini,” she greeted cautiously.

“Granger,” he said and inclined his head politely. But even when polite, he had an air of superiority about him. She wasn’t offended – he seemed to constantly be arrogant with everybody.

“Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn,” he said, and walked over to her at the desk. “But I have noticed that you are mostly alone, of late. Trouble in the Golden Trio Nirvana?”

He perched himself on the edge of the desk and folded his hands on his lap. His dark eyes appeared indifferent, but Hermione sensed a hidden intensity within them – like he was assessing her.

“I do,” said Hermione. He arched his brow and waited for her to continue. “Forgive you for speaking out of turn, that is.”

Zabini hummed in approval of her reservations. She even thought for a moment that he had almost smiled.

“Zabini, why are you talking to me?” asked Hermione, bluntly.

He raised his hands and looked around the nook of shelves. “We are both here, are we not? Would you rather I ignored your presence and pretended you didn’t exist?”

“That is what you’ve done for the past six years,” she said. There was no hurt in her voice – she merely stated the truth. “And now you speak to me as though we’re friends.”

“Friends,” he repeated with a smirk. “A slight exaggeration, Granger. Perhaps acquaintances would be a more appropriate term?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “It doesn’t appease my confusion.”

“Allow me to confess,” he said and brushed a stray lock of his hair back into place. “You are friends with Luna Lovegood – I am interested in Luna Lovegood resting on my bed. Thus, I will befriend you in hopes of securing her attention.”

Hermione frowned at him. Slytherins weren’t the type to freely announce their intentions to anyone – not even their own, and especially not Gryffindors. He didn’t fool her at all. His intentions were a lot shadier than that.

A silence passed them and they only stared at each other. They both knew she wasn’t convinced, but Zabini said nothing to rectify that. He only stared down at her and blinked slowly. She didn’t realise before how long his eyelashes were.

“Luna is a nice girl,” said Hermione sternly. She had to break the uncomfortable silence. “Stay away from her.”

“Am I not worthy?” asked Zabini, unfazed.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why must I keep my distance?” he asked.

“Because I don’t trust your intentions,” she admitted. “I don’t fancy Luna getting caught in whatever game it is you’re playing.”

He only smirked. Hermione stood from the chair and walked over to the shelves. She didn’t need another book, but the conversation was too uncomfortable for her. The pretence of searching for literary material gave her a slight reprieve.

After a few moments Zabini spoke, “Sometimes, one cannot control which webs they are dragged into. And rarely can they free themselves from such tangles, because they didn’t know they were drawn in until it’s too late.”

Hermione turned to face him and saw that he was staring at the aisle ahead. She followed his gaze and saw Malfoy standing there, staring coldly at her. His dark steely eyes stayed on her when he inclined his head. Zabini stood from the table and left. Malfoy and Hermione were alone.

She immediately slipped out her wand from her skirt pocket and watched Malfoy warily.

“Making friends with Slytherins,” said Malfoy coldly. “A risky move, mudblood.”

“Zabini and I are not friends,” she bit. “And neither are we, Malfoy.”

He didn’t claim otherwise, but the implication was clear: She didn’t appreciate his random appearances and chats with her. He was not welcome.

Suddenly, Malfoy was in front of her. He had approached so quickly, she barely realised until he was towering over her. She swiftly raised her wand, but he snatched her wrist, slammed it against the bookshelf and shoved her backwards. Her back ached as the ledges in the shelf pressed into her. He slowly pushed himself against her and trapped her between him and the shelf.

“Let go of me,” she seethed. “I don’t need my wand to hurt you, Malfoy. Did you forget the deserving slap you received in third year? Or are you so desperate to be hit again?”

He surprised her. He didn’t hex her or harm her. He smirked a cold smirk, filled with malice.

“This is not our third year, Granger, and I am not a boy anymore,” he whispered huskily. “Things are different now, and you know it. That fear in your eyes proves my point, Granger.” – His face lowered and came closer to hers. His smirked disappeared and his sinister eyes send a shiver down her spine. – “And it’s so very tempting.”

Hermione huffed as he stepped away. She couldn’t stop the trickles of fear falling down her spine. Luckily, he turned and left without another word. The second he did, Hermione exhaled shakily. He was right – he was not a boy anymore, and things were different. For the first time since she had come to Hogwarts almost six years ago, she was frightened of Malfoy. And it only scared her more that she didn’t know why.

* * *

The Gryffindor Common Room was empty except for the two students sleeping by the fireplace. Ronald Weasley snored obscenely on the armchair and Hermione napped on the couch. They had tried waiting up for Harry to return from his meeting with Dumbledore, but had fallen asleep sometime after midnight.

At an unknown hour, Hermione awoke to a scuffling sound. Her heavy eyelids opened and she rubbed her face tiredly. The scuffle noise continued. She sat up on the couch and looked around, but nobody else was there except Ronald and herself. The scuffle sound passed by her, and she realised what it was – footsteps.

Hermione jolted up from the couch and rounded on the location of the noise.

“Harry Potter, you stop right there,” she demanded sternly. The noise stopped immediately. “Take off the cloak.”

Harry sighed and pulled the invisibility cloak from his body. His form was revealed, and his uniform from the day was crumpled and dishevelled. His eyes were red and puffy and his spectacles sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

“When did you get back?” she asked. She snatched the cloak from his hands to confiscate it. He had far too much homework to do, and his meetings with Dumbledore were time-consuming. The last thing she wanted Harry to do was to run around the castle chasing conspiracies when he could be using his time efficiently.

“Just now,” he said sheepishly.

“And where were you going?” she asked. She glanced pointedly at the parchment in his hand – the Marauder’s Map. Harry looked at the Map and didn’t answer. “Harry, where were you going? Please don’t tell me you were going to look for Malfoy again.”

“Ok,” he shrugged. “I won’t.”

“Harry,” sighed Hermione. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep wasting your time on that ferret. He’s –”

“I know,” he bit. He pulled unfolded the Map and showed it to her. “But look, Hermione.”

She exhaled wearily and took the Map from him. Harry tapped on the far left corner which showed the name ‘Draco Malfoy’ moving up the staircases. Close behind him was the ‘Blaise Zabini’.

“See?” Harry asked, as if he had just proven all of his conspiracies. He hadn’t. “What would Malfoy be doing roaming around the castle at three in the morning? Something dodgy.”

“Or,” she said, “he’s on patrol.”

“Maybe.”

“No, not maybe,” she argued. “He _is_ on patrol. I checked the schedule this morning. I cannot say why Zabini is out after curfew, but I imagine he is only accompanying Malfoy on his patrol, Harry.”

Harry didn’t look convinced. He tried to snatch the Map and cloak from her, but she pulled back in time.

“I’ll hang onto these for now,” Hermione said. “You can have them back when you’ve caught up on all your homework. You still have to write your Potions essay and Herbology assignment, you haven’t even practiced Apparation yet, and when was the last time you read your Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook? You’re falling behind, Harry – This year is important. If you want to become an Auror, you have to work harder and not waste time on a vendetta you have.”

“No offence, Hermione,” he snapped, “but I might not even live through this war, and you’re telling me I need to study harder to become an Auror? You have no idea what –”

Hermione stepped closer to him and jabbed him on the chest. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “I might die, too, Harry. Everyone who fights in this war when it comes is in danger of dying. Even innocents will die. I have been with you every step of the way, and I want to see you defeat Voldemort – I am helping you do that to the best of my ability. But when you spend your time obsessing over an insignificant school-bully, it’s difficult to help you.”

Hermione sighed and Harry grumbled in annoyance.

“Go to bed,” she sighed. “You’re short on sleep and you need your rest. Tomorrow I’ll help you with your homework, and we’ll get you all caught up in no time.”

Harry nodded, but he was still furious. That much was obvious in his firmly set jaw and stiff demeanour. He pushed by her and disappeared up the stairs. Hermione woke Ron and sent him up to bed, too.

When she made it to her dormitory, she gave into temptation and unfolded the Map. She searched for Malfoy’s name on the staircase, but couldn’t find it. After a while, she realised that his name wasn’t on the Map at all. But Blaise Zabini’s was on the Map. He was alone on the seventh floor corridor, just standing there.

Hermione stared at his name for a while, but he didn’t move. Eventually, sleep became too demanding and she put the Map away before she fell asleep to dreams about Malfoy … Horrible dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Here’s the next chapter – sorry, I haven’t had the chance to proof-read it. Things will progress very soon!**

**Thank you for the reviews – they are wonderful to read and I appreciate them all. You’re too kind.**

Many students lingered in the foyer to watch. Hermione didn’t raise her voice, but attention was drawn to her hostility and watery eyes. Ron stood defensively with his arms crossed over his chest, and his Quidditch gear smeared in dirt. That dirt smudged at Hermione’s finger as she jabbed him on the burly chest, but he didn’t flinch or back down. He only got angrier. As did Hermione, because Lavender Brown still clung off his arm and scowled right at her.

“Can we at least have this conversation _alone_?” Hermione gritted out. She looked pointedly at the now pouting Lavender.

“Give us a minute, will ya?” sighed Ron. He shrugged Lavender off his arm and watched her storm away. “There – We’re alone.”

“How could you,” she whispered. “We … I thought we were going to go to Slughorn’s dinner together…”

Ron sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Her eyes began to water, but she tried to resist the tears. Not only did she want to avoid crying in front of Ron and the onlookers, she definitely didn’t want Malfoy and Zabini to see her cry. Both the Slytherins watched intently from the far wall, but Malfoy appeared quite furious.

“When you asked me to go with you, I thought you meant as friends, ‘Mione,” said Ron awkwardly. “Lav and I –”

Hermione all but screeched, “ _Lav_?”

“Let me finish,” he said. “Lavender and I … We’ve kind of been talking a lot lately and -”

“You mean snogging,” she spat. “Just say it, Ronald. You’ve been snogging her.”

“Yes,” he nodded. He showed no guilt. “We have. And she asked if I wanted to be official with her, and I said yes. I didn’t know … I didn’t know you felt that way about me, ‘Mione.”

“I didn’t,” she fibbed. “I don’t. I just thought …” she trailed off, unable to form a decent lie. “Never mind, Ronald. I hope you have fun snogging _Lav_.”

Hermione barged passed him and stormed out of the castle, to the snowy grounds outside. She held back her tears with difficulty – Ron wasn’t watching her anymore, as he’d chased after Lavender the moment Hermione left, but Malfoy and Zabini were watching her. She could feel their gazes follow her right out of the castle.

The minute she was clear of the onlookers, she dropped down onto a bench and gazed out onto the Black Lake. It was then that she let the tears fall. She didn’t sob or sniffle – she wept; quietly and sadly.

All these years, she realised, she had been a fool. Her heart had grown fond of Ron in a way it had for nobody else. And even though at times she considered Ron to be difficult and challenging, she hadn’t stopped caring about him in that way. And he had chosen the silly, sickening Lavender Brown over her. It was the greatest slap to the face she could ever receive.

“Oi, Granger!”

Hermione quickly swatted away her tears and rubbed at her damp nose. She turned around and saw Cormac McLaggen – one of the onlookers to the spat with Ron – jog down the steps. He was slowly running toward her, and had a hopeful expression which made her sigh wearily. It really wasn’t the best time for her to be badgered by the creep.

Behind Cormac, on the steps at the castle doors stood Zabini and Malfoy. The latter looked uncertain and irritated, but he wasn’t looking at her – he was trying to kill Cormac with his lethal eyes.

“Hi Cormac,” she managed to say without crying again.

“Hey,” he said confidently and sat beside her on the bench. Hermione spared a final glance at the Slytherins on the steps. Malfoy glowered cruelly at her before he turned and stormed back into the castle. Zabini shrugged and followed casually – he didn’t have a care in the world.

“So,” began Cormac. “You and Weasley, eh?”

“What about us?”

“Just looked like you were arguing with him.”

“Did it?” asked Hermione, rhetorically. She turned and stared ahead. Cormac didn’t take the hint and scooted closer to her.

“Thought you two had a thing going on,” he continued. Hermione rolled her eyes discreetly. But then an idea struck her.

“No,” she smiled at him. “We’re friends; always have been and … I hope we always will be. But he’s left me short of a date for the Slugclub dinner on Saturday–”

Cormac fed right into the palm of her hand. He interrupted her and blurted out, “I’ll go with you. If you want.”

“Oh,” said Hermione. She pretended to think it over before she nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you Cormac.”

“Anytime,” he grinned charmingly. But it disgusted her slightly.

Hermione pretended to only be pleased by their date, but she wasn’t. The only reason she entertained it to begin with was for something dreadfully childish: To make Ron jealous. She hoped that if he saw her with Cormac, he would feel as she did seeing him with Lavender. And if not, she wouldn’t have to go alone to a ‘bring-a-date’ dinner. A win-win situation … So she told herself at least.

* * *

The table was at full capacity, and dessert had just been served. She sat between Harry and Cormac, but that wasn’t the problem. Cormac continuously pawed at her and apparently went oblivious to her squirming. His hand would place itself on her lap and she would jerk away. His hand would then leave her lap and rest on her shoulder instead. She would jerk away. His hand would then drape over her shoulders and– you guessed it – she would jerk away. At this rate she would have rather attended the dinner party with a Flobberworm than Cormac and his greasy paws.

Hermione didn’t necessarily need a date for the Slug Club dinner party, but she had initially invited Ron as he’d felt excluded. Harry and Hermione were a part of the Club they didn’t care about, but Ron cared, so she’d invited him. Also, she’d hoped it was a stepping stone for a blossoming in their relationship. She had been wrong and now she’d backed herself into a corner. To make Ron jealous, she’d accepted Cormac’s offer, and now was stuck with him all night.

Hermione smiled politely as Slughorn babbled on about his VIP connections in the Wizarding World. She didn’t care about his relationships but played the part of the graceful guest. Truthfully, she was more focused on evading Cormac’s unwanted affections, Harry’s regular glowers and Zabini’s questioning glances. Harry was still annoyed that she had confiscated his Map and cloak, which explained his scowls. But Zabini had no business looking at her the way he did. And he definitely had no business with the date he had brought to the dinner – Luna Lovegood.

When dessert ended it was clear the night was far from over. Slughorn levitated several bottles of butterbeers over to the table and placed them in front of each student. He entered into a conversation with Ginny and the others dispersed from the table. Zabini fixed his hair in a mirror, and Hermione used the opportunity – she immediately grabbed Luna’s wrist and dragged her out onto the balcony.

“Hello Hermione,” said Luna dreamily when they reached the balcony. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s divine,” dismissed Hermione. “What are you doing here with Zabini?”

Luna smiled softly and looked at the curtains. They shielded the inside of the room where her date was. She replied, “He invited me.”

“Did he say why?” asked Hermione.

Luna thought tranquilly before she said with a smile, “No, he didn’t.”

“Why did you accept?” interrogated Hermione.

“He is nice,” she said simply. “Not many people are nice to me at Hogwarts. Blaise always has been.”

Hermione looked incredulous as she repeated, “Blaise?”

“That’s his name,” smiled Luna.

“I suppose it is,” said Hermione uncertainly. “I’m just … taken aback, Luna. I never imagined you would be Blaise Zabini’s date.”

It came out harsher than she had intended. Her tone implied that Luna wasn’t good enough for the vain and handsome Blaise Zabini, but Hermione actually meant quite the opposite. Luna was a peculiar girl, and not someone Hermione would have chosen as a friend, but she was good-hearted and kind. Whereas, Zabini was a snake to his slimy core, even if his exterior was charming.

Luna simply continued to stare at the drapes. Hermione sensed that Luna had misunderstood her comments.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Hermione softly. “I meant that you’re too sweet for somebody like Blaise Zabini. I don’t trust him.”

“I do,” she said.

“No offence, Luna, but you don’t even know him – how can you admit to trusting a Slytherin who openly associates with the likes of Draco Malfoy?”

“His friendship with Malfoy isn’t my concern,” said Luna brightly. “Blaise has always been kind to me, Hermione. I trust him and I know him.”

“When have you ever spoken to him?” asked Hermione. She cocked her hip to the side and folded her arms over her chest. “Before this year started, had you ever had a conversation with him?”

“Yes,” nodded Luna. “We would talk sometimes in the library. A few times he helped me find my missing shoes and socks.”

Hermione gaped. She had no idea that Luna and Blaise had ever spoken before he greeted her in Study Hall a few weeks ago. Luna had never said anything about him … But then again, Luna was never really close with Hermione, so what reason would she have to mention him?

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione guiltily. “I didn’t know…”

“Nobody did,” she shrugged and smiled. “He didn’t speak to me when others were around … Only when we were alone.”

Hermione knew exactly what she was saying – he was, at one point, perhaps ashamed of her. But it still wasn’t sitting right with Hermione… What reason would Zabini have to all of a sudden announce his familiarity with Luna Lovegood? Why would he take her on a date publically, when before that he was sneaking around the shadows with her?

The curtains shifted and Zabini stepped out onto the balcony. He smirked knowingly at Hermione and draped his arm over Luna’s shoulders.

“Planning to sabotage my date, Granger?”

“No,” bit Hermione. She eyed him suspiciously. He only smiled sincerely at her. “Are you planning on fixing your hair, Zabini?”

It was a low blow, but it had the perfect effect. Zabini’s smile was wiped from his face and he immediately tended to his black hair, combed to the side.

Hermione smiled falsely at him and made to push through the curtains.

“So eager to return to Cormac, I see,” mocked Zabini. She stopped in her tracks and turned to glower at him. “He’s been looking for you in there. I believe he is after a good snog or more.”

Hermione stiffened and pursed her lips. The thought of returning to Cormac was shudder-worthy, but staying on the balcony with Zabini was infuriating. Alas, she chose the lesser of two evils … maybe.

She chose to stay out on the balcony … Zabini’s arrogance was nothing compared to Cormac’s wandering hands.

“May I be so bold as to ask what your earlier quarrel with Weasley was about?” asked Zabini as he pulled Luna closer to him. Luna allowed it, and stared out onto the school grounds with a dreamy expression. Hermione wondered if she even knew where she was at times.

“It was nothing,” dismissed Hermione. “Why are you so interested in my personal matters?”

“I assure you,” he smirked, “it is not I who is interested.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked suspiciously.

Zabini only continued to smirk and brush non-existent crumbs from his pristine white shirt. Slowly, he looked back up at her and asked, “Did he stand you up for Brown?”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression,” she said stiffly. “Ron and I were having a heated discussion about something else entirely.”

“Is that so?” chuckled Zabini. “From where I was standing it looked –”

Hermione interrupted, “Appearances can be deceptive, Zabini.”

He grinned and heard the implications – she was referring to him.

“Indeed they can be,” he agreed.

Luna continued to stare out at the grounds with her dreamy smile and twinkling blue eyes. She may have looked oblivious, but Zabini knew differently. He squeezed her shoulder gently and addressed her, “Wouldn’t you agree, Luna?”

“Yes,” she nodded, and smiled brightly at him. “It’s like Thestrals, isn’t it? Some people think that they’re cruel creatures and scary … But they’re really sweet and gentle animals.”

Hermione was shocked for a moment. She had been certain that Luna wasn’t listening at all to the conversation – she had, after all, only stared out onto the grounds with a passive expression.

“My thoughts exactly,” smiled Zabini.

Hermione frowned and watched an odd moment pass between Luna and Zabini as they gazed at one another. She almost … for a second … She almost believed Zabini’s intentions to be sincere, which was utterly ridiculous. He was a Slytherin snake, and best friend of Draco Malfoy – the ultimate prat and son of a Death Eater. Hermione believed in the cliché phrase, ‘you are the company you keep.’ That applied to Zabini as far as she was concerned.

Zabini idly played with a strand of Luna’s yellow hair and looked at Hermione thoughtfully. “You know, Granger – I do believe you could have at least invited a more suitable date for yourself. The likes of Cormac do you no justice … That includes the Weasel you so desperately want to notice you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Pardon me, Zabini, but I wonder what makes you think you have any right to make assumptions about me, or what is suitable for me.”

“Are we not friends?” he teased.

“Acquaintances,” she quipped.

“Well then,” he laughed. “Please accept my opinion as one from an acquaintance.”

“You think you’re so suave, Zabini,” remarked Hermione curtly. “You’re not. You’re not fooling me – I know you and that ferret are up to something. I’m tired of turning every corner and seeing you or him there, watching me – I’m not a toy in your game, so leave me out of whatever you’re up to.”

He put his free hand in his pocket and his other hand still played with Luna’s hair. Luna looked sadly at Hermione before she pleaded up at Zabini with her blue eyes. She didn’t want them to quarrel, and one look down at Luna had Zabini silenced.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said and disappeared through the curtains.

When she stepped into the room, she spotted Cormac in the corner talking to Harry. Harry gave her a meaningful look from across the room and she understood – _run._ She smiled thankfully at Harry and made her escape. It was rude of her, she knew, but Slughorn could continue his festivities without her there. After her chat with Zabini and his familiarity with Luna, she was in no mood to stay at the party.

Hermione closed the door behind her and walked down the corridor. She made it about half way before the dreaded pure-blood stepped out of a connected corridor and right into her path. He showed no sign of surprise on his aristocratic and cool face.

“Malfoy,” she greeted curtly. Even though her tone was rude and unwelcoming, she still surprised herself – she didn’t know why she had even greeted him in the first place.

Malfoy said nothing – he stepped closer and stopped when he towered over her. His icy eyes dragged over her red dress and he said, “For a mudblood, you clean up well.”

Was that a compliment, or an insult? Hermione was furious and heard only the insult.

“I can’t say the same about you, Malfoy,” she snapped. “No matter how well you dress, you can never rid yourself of the ugliness within that grotesque heart.”

He grabbed her and slammed her back against the wall. Hermione gaped up at him and went to snatch her wand, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head.

He looked down at her with steely eyes and smirked at her distress.

“I wanted for so long to see that fear in your eyes,” he said, looking down at her. “Ever since you slapped me … it’s all I could think about. I concocted various scenarios to invoke that fear within you.”

His smirk slowly disappeared and he inched his face closer to hers. The hatred and coldness in his grey eyes had her heart beating madly. He lingered his lips near hers– she could feel his breaths tickling against her skin.

He whispered huskily, “And now that I see it in your eyes, I find myself … enchanted.”

Hermione sneered, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Malfoy, but if you don’t let me go, I’m reporting you to the headmaster. You have no right to touch me, and I will not let it happen again.”

A genuine grin of humour twisted at his lips, but it was still cruel in a sense … devilish. “Report me,” he said. “It will change nothing – I am a Malfoy. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “It means you’re an entitled rich boy who barely detached himself from his mother’s bosom, and acting out in retaliation. It means you’ve had everything handed to you your entire life, and had false beliefs engrained into your psyche – and most of all, it means you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

Despite her words possessing such venom and confidence, she feared her eyes would give her away – fear struck at her and she wanted to flee.

Malfoy’s grin faded and he stared icily at her. “It means,” he said angrily, “I pride myself on getting everything I want, whether I earn it, steal it, or take it; whether it resists or submits … It only matters that I have it.”

Hermione burned with fear and fury – she shifted her leg and raised it to knee him in the groin, but he was quicker. He evaded her attack easily, shoved his leg between hers and hoisted her further up the wall. Her feet dangled and didn’t touch the ground, and he held her up by the wrists and his body pressed against hers. They were now eye-level, and his lips stayed a mere touch from hers.

“It’s good to know my words were registered,” he whispered cruelly.

Shakily she spat, “What would you want with a mudblood? That’s what I am, right? That’s what you call me – I’m just a mudblood to you.”

“That you are,” he agreed throatily. “A mudblood with big brown eyes that betray every fleeting emotion that fills you; locks so luscious I want to snatch a fistful each time I see you. A mudblood is what you are, Granger … one so tempting it’s surely sinful.”

She inhaled sharply as his lips touched hers. He went to kiss her – a kiss she didn’t want – but a voice interrupted them.

“Draco,” Zabini called casually. He walked down the corridor casually with Luna tucked under his arm. Luna looked between Hermione and Malfoy worriedly, and Hermione tried to control her adrenaline. Zabini’s arrival helped with that.

Malfoy didn’t move. He kept his hold on Hermione, and his body against hers – his lips still touched hers, and each of his breaths swept into her mouth. He tasted like whiskey and expensive cigars.

Zabini approached with Luna and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but we have matters to attend to, Draco.”

Malfoy slowly brushed his lips against Hermione’s. She groaned and turned her face to the side. He kissed her cheek instead, and the kiss lingered … mockingly.

“Remember that, mudblood,” he whispered against her cheek.

She glowered at him as he stepped away and she landed on her feet.

Zabini glanced between the pair before he turned to Luna and took her hand in his. He kissed her knuckles and bowed his head.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” he said charmingly. Luna smiled.

Hermione stepped closer to Luna and pulled out her wand. Before she could train it on Malfoy, he and Zabini swept down another corridor and went out of sight.

Luna, being the dreamy and vacant girl she is, turned and smiled at Hermione, “I had a great time. Did you?”

Hermione gave her a bewildered, outraged look.

Luna simply continued to smile at her.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**I’m flattered by your favourites, follows and reviews — I didn’t think I would get this much love. Thank you all — It inspires me and makes me want to deliver more, quicker. The chapters are short sometimes, which makes it easier to update more frequently. They’ll get longer later when more … _things_ happen.**

**To answer a few reviews: Yes, Draco will get darker and crueller. I promise haha. And, this chapter should clear up some confusion about Luna … *winks cheekily***

* * *

In the Great Hall for breakfast, Hermione sat alone at the farthest end of the Gryffindor table. Sunday mornings in the Great Hall tended to be quiet, and it wasn’t different that particular Sunday. Harry and Ron hadn’t even appeared yet — Hermione suspected they were sleeping in, or had gone to spy on the Slytherin Quidditch Practice. It wasn’t her concern, anyway.

It was the day after the Slugclub dinner party, and Hermione intended to avoid many people. She would avoid Harry, because he pestered her to have his cloak and Map returned to him; Malfoy, because he assaulted her in the corridor and she wanted to stay far away from him; Zabini, because he was ill-mannered towards her at the party; Ron, because he was snogging ‘ _Lav_ ’ in the Common Room when she returned; and Luna, because she allowed Zabini’s attitude, and didn’t intervene when she found Hermione pressed against the wall by Malfoy.

Lazily, she stirred her bowl of porridge and rested her chin on her palm. The drama from the night before replayed in her mind over and over again. Malfoy was certainly different that year, and she had known that for a few weeks. But finally, Harry’s suspicions about him had begun to make sense. Hermione realised she may have to confess to Harry about what Malfoy had been doing and saying to her. He would freak out but she didn’t think she had any other option at that point. It was getting out of hand.

Hermione decided that she wasn’t hungry. She pushed her porridge away and left the Great Hall. In the atrium, she saw Luna coming down the stairs. She wasn’t as lively and bright as she usually was — Hermione noticed that straightaway. In fact, Luna looked tired. Her blue eyes were blood-shot and puffy and her mannerism was defeated. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she would think Luna was hungover.

Anger brewed within her immediately. Hermione balled her hands into fists and stormed up the stairs to meet Luna. All plans of ignoring her went out the window the moment she felt the anger.

“Hermione —” Luna began, ashamedly.

“Don’t,” interrupted Hermione sharply. “I don’t want your useless apologies or excuses. I just want to tell you that I thought better of you than that. I’m disgusted by your actions — You saw that I was cornered by Malfoy … You stood there and watched while he —”

“I know,” whispered Luna. “I don’t know what happened, Hermione. I was there … but I wasn’t.”

Hermione snorted rudely. “When are you ever really _there_?” She was angry… furious. It was rude of her to say, but she didn’t care. The injustice was too great.

“I know what people think of me,” said Luna sadly. “I know what you think of me. But I want you to know that I tried to help you, I just … couldn’t.”

“Are your priorities really that distorted?” she spat. “Are you so obsessed with Zabini’s approval that you’d let Malfoy do whatever he wants to me and not help me?”

Luna looked down at her hands guiltily. “I don’t know how to make you understand. My mind was so cloudy and strange. It was like Wrackspurts were nearby, but they weren’t.”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Hermione crossly. “You can’t blame this on your imaginary creatures, Luna. You watched me get assaulted! And you did nothing!”

“I ...” sighed Luna. She met Hermione’s livid eyes and explained, “Yesterday, before the dinner, I was in Hogsmeade by myself. I went to look at the Shrieking Shack for a while… I always go there. It’s nice. A good place to think and feel free, don’t you think? It helps me relax, and the shack is really quite lovely —”

“Do you have a point?” barked Hermione.

Luna nodded and licked her lips. “Zabini turned up and he gave me a bottle of butterbeer and we talked. We talked for a few minutes, not long. He asked me to the dinner and I said yes…”

Hermione looked at her incredulously. “I’m failing to see the strange part, other than you moseying about with a Slytherin.”

Then she realised — Luna said ‘Zabini’, not ‘Blaise’.

Before she could inquire, Luna said thoughtfully, “That is the strange part. I don’t know why I said yes … That’s when it went cloudy in my mind. I just wanted to be near him.”

Hermione stared at her blankly. It all pieced together in her mind.

Luna continued, “When I woke up, I felt odd … I still feel odd. My brain is thumping and my stomach is twisting… But worse than that, I feel sick that I watched you and couldn’t help.”

Hermione stood there for a moment in thought. She had several theories springing to mind, but one took the cauldron cake.

Suddenly, Hermione took off at a sprint up the stairs and left Luna standing there awkwardly. She ran back to the Common Room and into her dormitory. There, she removed the Marauder’s Map from her nightstand and unfolded it. Once she found Zabini’s name down in the Dungeons, she stuffed it into her pocket and went there.

In front of the Slytherin Common Room, she banged on the stone wall and shouted Zabini’s name. There was no portrait for her to speak to and demand entrance from as a Prefect. There was a stone wall entrance, and that’s all. Soon into her violent knocking, her knuckles began to bruise and ache.

The stones disappeared and outstepped Blaise Zabini, looking at her curiously. He was amused, but intrigued mostly.

“Granger,” he greeted and stepped into the corridor. The stone wall shut behind him.

Hermione’s lip curled. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” he smirked and leaned against the wall casually. “You’ll have to be more specific, Granger. I get up to all sorts of mischief — It’s in my nature, as you know.”

“Luna,” she spat, stepping closer to him. “What did you do to her?”

“Ah,” he grinned. “Notice that, did you?”

“Don’t play games with me, Zabini,” she all but growled. “I will report you if you don’t tell me what you did right now.”

“It’s not too difficult to figure out,” he chuckled. “Not if you really think about all the signs.”

Hermione went white. Her theory was correct. “You imperiused her.”

Zabini laughed. “No, Granger. That would be illegal.”

“You only just admitted, seconds ago, to getting up to all sorts of mischief,” she argued.

“Mischief, yes,” he agreed. “Criminal offences? Not quite. What I did was perfectly legal … but prohibited within the walls of the castle.”

Hermione thought for a moment and said, “A love potion.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” he grinned devilishly. “Although, I must confess — I didn’t think anybody would detect oddities in her behaviour. She is, after all, a dreamy and dazed girl without the potion…”

Hermione seethed, “You freely admit to drugging a student, Zabini, and all you have to say is you didn’t think anyone would notice?”

“Oh, please,” he dismissed. He lazily flicked his hand. “I did not take advantage of her. I stole no kisses from her lips, and took no touches from her body. I stole only her attention and time.”

Hermione inhaled through her flaring nostrils and tried to calm the wave of wrathful fury within her. His nonchalance was infuriating — He drugged Luna and acted as though it was nothing. 

“It is not against the law to administer someone a love potion,” he smirked wickedly. “All you can do is refer my misconduct to a teacher, and I may receive a detention or lose House points — only because it is against school policy to bring it into the castle or use it. That’s all you can do, Granger — You’ll need a lot more than that to bring me down.”

He was right; they both knew it. He would certainly receive a detention — Hermione would make sure of it — but it was a perfectly legal substance sold in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. She made a mental note to fight against the potion when she made it into the Ministry of Magic in her future career.

“Why did you do it?” she asked suspiciously.

“I wanted to,” he shrugged. “I showed her a glimpse into the courtship I can offer her.”

She scoffed. “You couldn’t ask her on a date like a sane, functioning person?”

“Ask her?” laughed Zabini. “And be rejected? I think not, Granger.”

“With all those secret meetings and liaisons you’ve had with her, I’m sure she would’ve at least considered it,” argued Hermione. “But now, when I tell her what you did, she’ll never look at you again.”

Zabini looked confused for a moment. And then he chuckled, practically giddy with glee. “Ah, that potion worked wonders. I highly recommend it.”

“Pardon?”

“Luna and I have had no such interactions,” he explained proudly. “The first time she ever spoke to me was yesterday at the Shrieking Shack. Even when I’d greet her in the corridors, she only smiled at me. At first, I welcomed those dreamy smiles, but I quickly wanted more, so took more from her.”

“Against her will,” snarled Hermione.

“Minor details,” he dismissed. “Now Lovegood will see the gentleman I am, and will entertain my advances in future.”

“Over my dead body,” she promised. “And when she learns of what you’ve —”

He interrupted, “That I cannot allow. Did you really think I would divulge everything to you and let you run back to her and spill my secrets?”

Instantly, Hermione whipped out her wand and pressed the tip against his chin. He only laughed.

“Try it,” dared Hermione.

“I already have,” whispered Zabini coldly.

His charming façade disappeared completely and she felt like she was staring into the eyes of a Malfoy double. A shiver ran down her and she saw what Zabini really was… He was a monster just like Malfoy.

Coldly, he whispered, “Don’t be so foolish to think that Luna is the only prey in this castle, Granger. And I’m not the only Slytherin on the hunt— The only difference is, is that I prefer my prey willing.”

Slowly, his eyes looked over her shoulder and she, too, turned to follow his line of sight.

Draco Malfoy stood in the corridor behind them in his dirty Quidditch gear. His wand was aimed right at Hermione’s head and his icy eyes were filled with malice. How long had he been standing there?

A cold smirk was all she saw before he said loud and clear, “Obliviate.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry guys! College got the better of me, and work was chaos. Here you go, a belated chapter – I promise, the next chapter is on its way.**

**Please be beautiful spirits and leave me a review (:**

Books and tomes were piled around her on the desk. Brown curls bounced above the mountain of literature as Hermione Granger switched book after book. She had been there, in the library, the entire evening. For a few days, Hermione sensed that something wasn’t right. She had lost chunks of her time in memories and had randomly found herself alone in the Slytherin dungeons last Sunday. She didn’t know why she was down there – she didn’t even remember _going_ to the dungeons. The whole night of Slughorn’s dinner party was a blur and she couldn’t account for her actions once she left. All she knew was that something was wrong…

Hermione never forgot herself – therefore, she never forgot her memories. At the dinner party, she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, nor anytime afterwards. In fact, she wouldn’t even had realised her memories were gone if Luna hadn’t brought the dinner party up. Apparently, she and Luna had argued Sunday morning, but Hermione didn’t understand why.

Luna had explained to the best of her ability – According to her, Malfoy had pushed Hermione against the wall and had tried to kiss her, which was utterly bizarre and ludicrous. Malfoy wouldn’t want to touch a ‘mudblood’ with his wand, let alone his lips. So she dismissed Luna’s account of their argument and decided to get to the bottom of it herself. Hence her urgent business in the library.

Hours she had been there … Hours upon hours of researching book after book. She searched through medical tomes – perhaps she had fallen and gotten a concussion; she fingered through dark arts literature – perhaps she had touched a cursed object at the dinner party; she rifled her way through a stack of magazines in search for any article that could explain her symptoms. It was a long shot, she knew, but she had to look everywhere.

It was frustrating, and an awful way to spend a Friday night. Hermione could better spend her time on homework and helping Harry – the friend that was gone with Dumbledore most of the time, and still showed signs of anger towards her. She did, after all, still have his cloak and Map. And by the pile of unfinished homework in his schoolbag, she didn’t plan on returning the items any time soon.

The sun set outside, and the library light dimmed – the candles were all that lit the room when the night came. She was about to admit defeat, but forced herself to read one final tome. She grabbed one from the pile at random and flicked through it lazily. She had no expectations of finding her answers in the pages before her, but she gave it a half-hearted shot anyway.

Her eyes widened suddenly and she gaped.

 _‘How could I have been so stupid?’_ she muttered huffily to herself. _‘Honestly, Hermione – Brightest Witch, my backside.’_  — Even when speaking to herself, she was reluctant to say ‘arse’. That was more of a Ron-type word than one she would use.

On the pages in front of her was an in depth description of charms she knew all too well: Memory Charms.

Hermione scanned the subtitles and the symptoms of each type of memory charm until she found it – ‘Obliviate’. The symptoms included an inability to recall past events, broken memories, a headache when attempting to remember, random spurts of nausea and, rarely, a bloody nose forty-eight hours after the spell was cast. She had experienced the headaches and nausea, but not the bloody nose. It was enough for her to know what she had been assaulted with, though. Her mind had been tampered with.

That said, she knew that most Obliviate spells were undetectable by the recipient. Most of the time, the recipient of the charm would believe they were doing a specific and favourite hobby at the time of the blank memories. For instance, if the spell was properly cast, she would simply think she’d been in the library in the times she couldn’t remember.

Whoever had cast the charm on her either wanted her to know she’d been obliviated, or was inept at producing a strong spell.

The last thing she’d remembered from the broken memories was wandering the corridors of the Slytherin dungeons aimlessly. No doubt, the culprit was a Slytherin. Luna had claimed they’d argued about Malfoy … Perhaps she had gone to confront him? And he had obliviated her …

The motive was still unclear, but she had no intention of letting the matter go. She would get to the bottom of the incident, and would expose Malfoy’s intentions. But one thing had to be seen to first – she needed to tell Harry what had been going on with Malfoy. That way, she could enlist his help … And she might just be starting to believe that there was some truth to Harry’s conspiracy theories.

Hermione’s blood boiled with furious injustice. Lavender practically straddled Ron on the armchair and ate his face off. Hermione narrowed her eyes disapprovingly at the spectacle. The Gryffindor Common Room was not a place for PDA as far as she was concerned. At least the other hormone-ridden students had the decency to hide in shadowed corners, or leave to snog in random parts of the tower. But, _noooo_ ; Ron just had to throw it in her face. The boy lacked tact, and she could admit that it was one of the few things she disliked about him.

“Hermione,” said Harry softly. He followed her eyes to the canoodling couple. “Ignore them.”

She blinked out of her daze and looked at Harry. “What – Oh, them? I don’t care about that…” Harry looked at her disbelievingly. “I was lost in thought about Malfoy.”

The mention of his arch-nemesis perked him up and he scooted closer to her on the couch.  

“What’s he done?” whispered Harry intently.

“It’s not what he’s done, but what he’s _doing_.” An incredulous and questioning expression swept over his face. She explained, “Promise me, Harry, promise me you won’t fly off the handle.”

“What’s he doing, Hermione?” asked Harry severely.

“Well,” she exhaled, “where do I begin?”

“At the start,” he said.

Hermione looked down at her clasped hands and reiterated everything Malfoy had done – minus the rumoured kiss – and his constant, intimidating stares her way. Of late, he had been watching her in Study Hall, the Great Hall, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, Potions… and so on. She told Harry everything, every encounter, every word, every watchful stare, the time she saw him disappear on the Map, and even about Zabini’s sudden interest in her and Luna. When she was done, Harry looked into the fireplace pensively and chewed the inside of his cheek.

Hermione watched him mull over the information overload she waffled at him. After a while she took out the Map from her schoolbag and gave it to him.

“That’s why I’ve decided to give this back to you,” she said quietly. “And the cloak.”

Harry took the Map as she pulled the cloak out of her bag, too. By the time she placed the cloak between them on the couch, Harry was already searching the Map for Malfoy.

“Say something, Harry,” pleaded Hermione desperately. She couldn’t stand the thought of him being disappointed in her – not for Malfoy’s actions, but for her keeping it from him for so long.

Harry stayed quiet and tapped his fingertip on the Map. “It’s always the same,” he said, as if to himself. “Blaise Zabini on the seventh floor – Never Malfoy. You said you saw that too, right?”

“Yes.”

“But every time I see their names go up to the seventh floor, Malfoy’s vanishes and Zabini’s stays in the corridor.”

Harry was worrying her. He hadn’t said anything about her lies or mistruths. His mind was churning, his pensive eyes said.

“They’re up to something,” he said, speaking what they both already knew. “I think he’s acting on Voldemort’s orders – I know you don’t think he’s old enough to be a Death Eater, Hermi—”

“That’s what I thought,” she interrupted. Looking down at her hands, she sighed. “But now… Now, I don’t know what to think.”

“You believe me, then?”

“I believe …” she paused and thought. “I believe that he’s up to no good, and I believe he’s dangerous. Whether he is a Death Eater or not, I don’t know.”

“Then let’s find out,” said Harry.

Hermione looked at him curiously and he stared back at her with guarded green eyes. She licked her lips and nodded.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, and scooted closer to her again. “This stays between us, ok?” She nodded and they both glanced at Ron, who had his tongue tied around Lavender’s. “Not even Ron can find out.”

“Find out what?”

“Malfoy’s interested in you in some way,” he said. “I don’t know why or what for… But he’s got his guard down more with you than he does with me or Ron… We can use that.”

“Use me, you mean,” she said.

Harry guilty licked his lips. “We can use his interest in you,” he corrected.

“What do you want me to do?”

The look in his eyes told her before he could answer – it was nothing she’d like.

Potions class was a much more pleasant lesson than when Professor Snape taught the subject. Professor Slughorn babbled on a bit, but Hermione kept up and was determined to maintain her position at the top of the class. Harry frequently turned around in his seat – directly in front of her – and gave her a meaningful stare. She ignored him after the first six times. He was making it too obvious. Malfoy had already noticed the exchange, he watched her from the other side of the classroom. His icy stare burned into the side of her face.

When Slughorn dismissed the class, Hermione took her time packing her things up. By the time she swung her bag over her shoulder, the classroom was empty of students – but she suspected Malfoy was slinking in the corridors, waiting for her. As was Harry, under the cloak.

Hermione stalled further by going over an essay question with Slughorn. He explained it, and it was nothing she didn’t already know. When she left the classroom, five minutes after dismissal, the corridor was empty.

Hermione adjusted her bagstrap and slowly walked down the corridor. She tried to keep her face as calm as possible, but it was difficult – knowing someone was about to jump out of a shadow was unnerving. When she reached the second corridor and turned onto it, Malfoy stepped out of an alcove and blocked her path.

Towering over her, Malfoy cruelly stared down at her with those pitiless eyes that seemed to empty, yet so full of poison. The grey swirled with dangerous intent, she swallowed and stepped back.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked, and even as she heard the question spit from her tongue, she realised that she was tired of asking the same old questions on repeat. Like that broken CD player she had in her bedroom at home, always skipping and ruining her favourite songs, playing the same line over and over again.

Malfoy’s lips parted, still forming a whisper of a sneer, and he went to reply. She held her hand up to stop him and said, “You know what?” she asked exasperatedly. “I don’t care.”

Hermione shoved by him, slamming her shoulder into his. Before she could take her next step, she gasped as she was slammed, hard, against the wall. Only this time, it was chest-first. Her face was turned to the side against the cool, rough stone and she winced from the impact against her tender breasts. Malfoy’s hand held her head in place and he came up behind her, slowly, and pressed his body against hers.

Her curls moved and his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. He whispered, “Do you what trumps courageous, foolish lions?”

His silky whisper was so quiet that she almost didn’t hear it over her own loud breaths. He chuckled darkly and answered his own question, “Poisonous snakes.”

Hermione didn’t reply, her voice had caught in her throat. Her position prevented her from removing her wand from her skirt pocket, and his body trapped her against the wall. Worse was that she was afraid to move – a long, hard bulge was firmly against the small of her back, and she knew what it was.

“What, no words of bravery to chew out?” he mocked darkly, barely a whisper. “Or are you only brave when you’re flanked by your bodyguards?”

Her courage didn’t return, but her anger did. She spat, “I remember a time when that was you – never without your Crabbe and Goyle pets to save you from whatever trouble you got yourself into. Is it just daddy who does that now, Malfoy? Or Volde-”

He hissed – literally hissed – warningly against her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and shudder ran down her spine.

“Says the mudblood who brought the invisible, invincible Potter with her,” he purred cruelly.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and her heart thudded loudly – she was sure he could hear it.

“Potter,” spat Malfoy, and he stepped away from Hermione. She whipped around and fumbled for her wand, pointing it straight at him. But Malfoy was staring down the corridor at nothing – or what appeared to be nothing. “You might want to be a little more careful with your mudblood – as filthy as she is, a pretty thing like that will be devoured in these corridors … so many snakes slithering around, you see.”

Hermione’s wand shook in her trembling hand. Harry appeared at the bottom of the corridor, whipping the cloak from his body, wand pointed at Malfoy.

“And,” smirked Malfoy, “where there is one snake, there are more.”

Just like that, two Slytherins stepped into the corridor. Zabini and Nott emerged from shadowy alcoves and removed glamour charms from their bodies. They both had their wands fixed on Harry. Malfoy, so slowly, turned to face Hermione and he smirked with such cruelty she instinctively stepped back into the wall.

“Until next time,” he sneered, his handsome face contorted by the change in expression.

Malfoy turned and strolled down the corridor, Nott and Zabini followed him – Zabini winked at Hermione on his way, but Nott didn’t spare her a glance. When they’d disappeared down another corridor, Harry ran over to Hermione and checked her lightly scraped face for any sign of injury.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly. She swatted his hand away and smiled proudly. “You got it,” Harry said, dumbfounded. “I thought –”

“Never underestimate a Gryffindor,” smiled Hermione, and she pulled an object out of her pocket. She handed it to Harry and relief swept over his face. He fixed the glasses perched on the end of his nose and beamed brightly at Hermione.

“You amaze me,” he said. “Do I tell you that? How amazing you are.”

“Not enough,” she laughed. “I think I need to hear it daily after that.”

Harry grinned lopsidedly and stuffed the object into his pocket. He and Hermione left the corridor, both with unmistakably gleeful grins.


	7. Chapter 7

“Let me see it,” whispered Harry. He and Hermione huddled together at the far end of the Gryffindor table. He had been called away the day before by Dumbledore, and they’d yet to inspect their stolen object.

“Not here,” she hissed. “Honestly, Harry. We’re in the middle of the Great Hall. We can’t just pull out Malfoy’s–”

“Malfoy’s what?” Harry and Hermione looked behind them to see Ron, stuffing his face with cauldron cakes. Ron’s orange eyebrows furrowed together at the suspicious behaviour of the two. “Mate,” said Ron. “Malfoy’s what?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione cut in, “Malfoy’s an arse.”

Ron stared at her, taken aback. It was the first time she’d spoken to him since their quarrel in the corridor, weeks ago. The fact that she’d looked him in the eye and said actual words to him made Ron overlook their suspicious behaviour.

“All right,” he said. He shrugged and bit into a dry, crumbly cauldron cake. “Still on for practice later, Harry?”

“What?” Harry blinked. “Oh – Quidditch practice … Yeah, mate, we’re still on. I’ll see you in Potions.”

Ron nodded slowly and stepped away. He looked a little hurt that he’d been asked to leave in a roundabout way. Once he walked out of earshot, Hermione and Harry resumed their huddle.

“Give it to me,” said Harry quietly.

“I can’t, Harry,” sighed Hermione. “It’s not like I carry it around with me. It’s in my trunk in the dorms.”

Harry looked at her incredulously.

Hermione explained, “If Malfoy suspects that I stole his wand, he’ll come looking for it. If I have it on me when he does –”

“I get it,” mumbled Harry. Thoughtfully, he glanced at the Slytherin table. Malfoy wasn’t there, neither was Zabini or Nott. But Harry scowled at the table anyway. “So we’ll do it tonight?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “We’ll see what he’s been up to. I’ve been thinking of spells, but I can only come up with the Reverse Spell. If he’s been using his wand to do whatever he’s up to, we’ll get a good idea of what he’s planning. But if he’s not using his wand, then we won’t learn anything.”

“Not using his wand?” repeated Harry.

“Well, we took it yesterday,” explained Hermione. “He’s not confronted me yet. Maybe that’s because he hasn’t used it yet, so he doesn’t know it’s missing.”

“Maybe,” said Harry, doubtfully. “Or maybe he doesn’t want to you confront you. What if he’s got other plans to get it back?”

The bell rang. Hermione and Harry left the Great Hall and went to the dungeons for double Potions. Malfoy, Zabini and Nott were already in the classroom when they arrived.

“Into pairs, please!” Slughorn asked. He was peering down at a bubbling cauldron on his desk. “Quickly.”

Ron and Harry paired up, and Hermione took the empty table behind them. Slughorn noticed. “No, Miss Granger, that won’t do. I need you in pairs today.” He peered over his glasses at the other students. Malfoy, Nott and Zabini were together at the back table. Malfoy went to offer himself as Hermione’s partner, but not quickly enough. “Ah, Mr Zabini! Yes, you, boy. Join Miss Granger.”

Zabini cocked his eyebrow and grabbed his things. He sauntered over to Hermione, unaffected by the glowers he was subjected to from Harry, Ron and even Malfoy. Hermione glanced at Malfoy and felt a lump swell in her throat at the amount of anger radiating from his eyes. She swallowed and moved down a seat to make space for Zabini.

“Granger,” he greeted indifferently. He tossed his things onto the table and sat down. Instinctively, Hermione went to return his greeting, but she then remembered his alliance with Malfoy. She sat stiffly in the chair instead, not oblivious to the burning heat of Malfoy’s stare piercing the side of her red face.

An hour into the class, and Hermione’s hair was a bushy hedge atop her head. The strands had dried out and frizzed. It reminded her of an afro. Ron and Harry squabbled at the table in front, both with mop-like hairstyles. Zabini, on the other hand, had sleek black hair that remained swept to the side in an effortless combed do. Only a light sheen of sweat glistened on his tanned chest, where he’d unbuttoned the top four buttons of his shirt. She studied him out the corner of her eye. She admitted inwardly that she could see the attraction. He was an Italian Stud. But a mere caramel coated version of Malfoy. At least Malfoy didn’t pretend to be warm and suave – he showed the iciness within.

“You know,” said Zabini as he stirred the cauldron, “I do appreciate your acknowledgement of my handsomeness, but your staring has caught the attention of a fellow classmate.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged a little. Her cheeks flamed. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Yes, you were,” he said. “But do not misunderstand me.” – he smirked at her through the rising vapours from the cauldron. – “I am not under any false apprehensions of your motives.”

“Meaning?”

“I know you’re observing me,” he explained. “Not appreciating the beauty I am.”

She snorted and added toad slime to the cauldron. He stirred.

“Observe away,” he continued. “But would you mind telling me what you are searching for, exactly?”

“Nothing,” she said honestly. “I was wondering how you could be cool and charming on the outside, and even pretend to be that way, but you’re just as cold as Malfoy on the inside.”

He smirked and said nothing about the comparison. He only said, “Speaking of Draco, as I mentioned already – he’s looking at you.”

Hermione didn’t need to check to know he was right. She could feel his stare piercing into the side of her face.

“I hope you haven’t gotten me in a spot of trouble,” he said lightly. Though, his dark expression spoke of a genuine concern.

“You’re afraid of Malfoy,” commented Hermione.

“I would be a fool to cross him.” Zabini added salt to the cauldron. He stirred thrice as he added, “I am not afraid of Draco, but I recognise the threat he could pose to me if he saw me as a threat.”

Hermione was surprised. She would have thought that Zabini was afraid of Malfoy. She would have thought everyone was afraid of him. Or was that just her?

Against her better instincts, Hermione looked over her shoulder at Malfoy. He had his hands pressed flat against the table and his murderous eyes glued right at her face. They swarmed with dark silver and her breath rattled in a shaky exhale.

She turned back to Zabini. She asked in whisper, “What does he want with me?”

The normally composed Slytherin froze. For the first time since she’d ever crossed paths with Zabini, she saw that he looked uncertain and shocked. The moment quickly passed. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked at her and said in a low voice, “That is not my business to share – not my question to answer.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, like slits. “But you _do_ know what he wants.”

“Yes,” he said, even quieter than before. “If you asked him, he might tell you himself.”

“I’ve tried speaking to him,” she hissed. “Mostly when he’s cornered me.”

“That’s exactly your problem,” he replied coldly. “You use Gryffindor courage and brashness to interrogate a man who operates on lies, mistruths, and cunningness.”

She mulled his words over for a second. “So you’re saying I’ll get more information if I think like a Slytherin?”

“I’m saying,” he corrected delicately, “that Draco will respond better to you, and treat you better, if he thinks you’re … _warming_ to him.”

“Warming?” she seethed. “To that despicable, vile–”

“Granger,” he interrupted. “I don’t care what you do. But there’s more at stake here than your pride. When it comes to Draco, he’s accustomed to getting what he wants. Not working for it, but taking it. He won’t concern himself with building a rapport with you. He’ll only retaliate if and when you resist. And resisting is all you do. When he looks at you, you look away. When he speaks to you, you spit words at him, even when you’re afraid. That’s all he sees, and he responds accordingly.”

He paused and took in her concerned expression. Hermione became so lost in her thoughts, she forgot to add lime drops to the potion, and it was therefore ruined. Neither of them seemed to care.

Zabini leaned closer to her to reach the rack of spices in front of her. But he whispered in her ear, “I am not a supporter of the Dark Lord. I do not wear his brand on my arm. But when the time comes, I will follow him. Not because I believe in him or his fight, but because it will be far easier and more profitable to reap the rewards of choosing the winning side.”

He pulled away, and took the lime drops with him. He added them, fifteen seconds late. The potion turned purple instead of green. He didn’t care.

“I’d die fighting for what’s right,” Hermione said eventually.

“No, you won’t,” said Zabini. “But you’ll wish you had.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When the time comes, and the Dark Lord wins, his loyal followers will be rewarded. It is then that you will wish you’d died in the battle. And every day after. But you can stop that from happening.”

“How? How can I stop it?”

“Prepare now,” he said. “Prepare for your defeat.”

“But you said I can stop the defeat.”

“No,” he smirked dryly. “You can stop your misery and sentencing to eternal pain. But you cannot stop the war, or the fall of the Order.”

“We’ll see,” she snapped.

“Oh, before I forget,” added Zabini, ignoring her confident reply. “Draco seems to have misplaced his wand.” Hermione paled. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“No,” she lied. “Why would I know-”

“Because you took it,” he interrupted and smirked. “Draco suspects you of it.”

“Well if Malfoy says I did it, it must be true.” She rolled her eyes.

He used her own reply against her, “We’ll see.”

* * *

The Gryffindor common room was quiet. A few first years slept on the couches, but everyone else had retired for the night. Except Harry and Hermione. They stood by the fireplace, the map spread open on the coffee table, invisibility cloak draped over the armchair, and a black elegant wand in Harry’s hand. It was a beautiful wand, if one was partial to sleek darkness. Hermione was not fond of the wand and didn’t see its beauty.

“Ready?” whispered Harry. He glanced at the map briefly.

“Ready,” agreed Hermione. She aimed her own wand at the black one in Harry’s palm. “Prior Incantato.”

Vapour came from Malfoy’s wand, and seeped from the tip. It morphed into a cupboard. Again, a vapour came, but in the shape of a twitching third year, followed by Neville Longbottom being chased by his own bogies. Finally, the last image came. It was the cupboard again.

The vapours dispersed, and Harry looked deflated. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, disappointedly. “What were you expecting?”

“Something,” said Harry. He shrugged. “Anything.”

“The cupboard came up twice.”

“A stupid cupboard,” he mumbled. “I’ve seen it before at Borgins and Burkes on Knockturn Alley.”

“A dark object,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s something to go on.”

“What?” he scoffed. “Malfoy playing around with dark objects? What’s new? I bet he does it all the time. It’s probably his hobby.”

“Odd, though, isn’t it?” mused Hermione aloud. “You said you’ve seen the cupboard in Knockturn Alley. But we were shown Malfoy’s last four spells he cast with his wand. How could he have spelled the cupboard if it’s in Knockturn Alley? He couldn’t have left Hogwarts, so he hasn’t been there for at least four months.”

Before Harry could reply, a knock rapped at the portrait door. He went to answer it. Hermione heard something speak, and the exchange of paper took place. Harry came back.

“Dumbledore’s back,” he said excitedly, but worriedly, too. “Do you mind?”

“Go,” smiled Hermione. “I can watch the map while you’re gone.”

“Ok,” said Harry. “Don’t do anything without me. If you see Malfoy’s name, wait for me to come back, alright?”

Hermione nodded. Harry left.

She sat down on the armchair and watched the map. Hours passed and she dozed off at some point in her crinkled uniform. When she woke up, she checked the map. Low and behold, Malfoy’s name wandered through the castle to the seventh floor. Hermione jolted up from the armchair, alert. Her hands snatched the map from the table and her honey eyes followed his name moving across the pages – slinking. She could see him, in her memories, the way he walked – arrogantly, confidently, but not a swagger. It was a simple walk, step after step, refined and somewhat graceful, but commanding and intimidating.

Hermione chewed her lip and looked at the clock. It was 3AM. Harry wasn’t back yet, but he’d left two hours ago. Maybe he’d gone with Dumbledore somewhere. Hermione had promised – or agreed to – not to do anything in his absence. But the opportunity presented itself. She snatched the cloak, draped it over her body, and swept out of the common room.

Hermione, holding the map beneath the cloak, slowly followed where she had last seen Malfoy’s name: the seventh-floor corridor. But he’d reached the corridor five minutes ago. Since then, he just … vanished. He’d done it before. As she got closer to the corridor, she slowed down. She folded the map and tucked it in her skirt pocket. The cloak covered her whole body, and she crept around the corner.

Before she could take her next step, a tall figure moved out of the shadows and slammed her hard against the wall. Hermione yelped, and an explosion of pain erupted in her skull. The side of her face, wet with tears of pain, pressed into the stone of the wall and a body held her in place. She knew who it was the second he whispered those cold, icy words into her ear as if he was speaking to a lover. “Need something, mudblood?”


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N. Please review! If you want … I like them, a lot. A lot, a lot. But not getting many. *sad face to guilt-trip you***

The coarse surface of the stone wall tore at her cheek. The invisibility cloak was torn from her body. Draco’s heavy body kept in her place by pressing against her back firmly, the cloak clutched in his hand. His lips lingered by her ear, whispering soft breaths against the sensitive skin. The question he asked flittered between them, almost silently, but all she did was struggle against his hold. A cruel laugh barked from him as he unexpectedly pulled away from her. Hermione spun around to face the wicked wizard. Her wild brown eyes drank in his evil grin as his laughter faded.

Hermione rubbed her reddened cheek gingerly. “Can you stop shoving me against every wall in the castle for once?” she snapped, angrily.

The grin remained smeared across his pale face as he corrected, lowly, “May. It’s ‘May you stop shoving me against every wall in the castle’.”

“You’re the last person I want to offer me advice,” spat Hermione. “Whether grammatical, or otherwise.”

The grin dropped from his lips, and she felt that familiar fear deadbolt to her stomach. Instinctively, she stepped back against the wall and kept her wary eyes on his stony expression.

Slowly, he moved closer to her, each step taunting her intentionally. “While you are Gryffindor’s princess prefect, the rules of curfew still apply, Granger. Unless you are on patrol, that is.”

Her body shrank back into the wall as he stopped a touch away from her. “It’s no business of yours what I do, . As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist. Keep it that way.”

“It is my business when it’s me you’re following,” he growled, and placed his hands on either side of her head. The arm-cage made her feel even smaller before him, but she willed herself to keep the fear from showing in her eyes.

“That’s arrogant, even for you, . What makes you think I’m following-”

 hissed – literally hissed – in her face. Cringing, she turned her head to the side and allowed the shudder to run down her spine. “I’m not certain which angers me more,” he whispered dangerously. “Your lies, or your insolence.”

Hermione clenched her teeth together as his nose brushed against her cheek. “What do you want, ?”

The question was growing tedious, even to her. She’d asked him this many times over, and was nowhere closer to an answer than the first time. Blaise’s words echoed in her mind, ‘You use Gryffindor courage and brashness to interrogate a man who operates on lies, mistruths, and cunningness.’ _Think like a Slytherin_ , she told herself.

“I want to know why you’re following me,” he replied. It was the first time he’d answered the question directly, perhaps with a flavour of truth. But she suspected there was much more that he wanted.

“I wasn’t …” her lie faltered as he tutted softly. A warning. Hermione inhaled shakily, and tried her best to ignore the slowly added pressure of his body against hers. The proximity was a distraction. Unnerving. “Fine,” she gritted out. “I was following you.”

“I believe I asked _why_ ,” he whispered and brushed his soft lips against the shell of her ear. “Not for a confession.”

“Because …” Again, she hesitated. He didn’t interrupt her this time, but the lie fell silent in her dry mouth. Blaise’s voice reminded her, ‘ _Draco will respond better to you, and treat you better, if he thinks you are warming to him.’_

Hermione slipped on her usual mask of confidence. Slowly, she turned her head to face him directly. His eyebrow arched at her boldness, and his lips quirked at the sides. “I was following you, because I wanted to speak with you.”

Icy words replied, “Is that so? And what would a mudblood want to speak with me about?”

“Exactly that,” she said. His fierce grey eyes didn’t blink. He stared right at her and she stared back. “You call me a mudblood, you throw me against walls, hurt me, intimidate me, but you can’t stop coming to me. Every time I look at you in class, you’re staring at me. When I’m in the Great Hall, you’re watching me. I turn a corner, and there you are, finding any excuse to talk to me, to be near me. One might conclude you fancy me, . But I know better than that. You’re up to something, and that something involves me. I want to know what and why.”

“That’s quite the demand,” he purred. The smirk remained in place, but no humour shone in his dark eyes. It was clear he was evaluating her. But Hermione saw that she’d caught him off-guard, and went to use that to her advantage.

Before she could speak,  swept away from her and raised the cloak in his hand. “This,” he said, the cloak rustling in the air, “I will return for a price.”

“That’s not yours to take!”

“You wanted to know what I desire with you,” he argued. “Is that still the case?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes on the cloak.

“Firstly,” he began, “I want my wand.”

“I don’t ha-” Draco cut her off, flicking his hand in the air. Hermione released a shrill shriek as she was thrown down the corridor. Draco’s bounding footsteps followed her as she crashed onto the solid ground with a crunch.

Hermione, on the ground, groaned from the pain thudding within her every muscle and bone. The warmth of fresh blood matted her curls to her forehead, but Draco just stared down at her, unfazed.

“Lie to me again, mudblood, I dare you,” he seethed, radiating danger and fury. “Return my wand, and no more injuries will befall you … for now.”

Cursing under her breath, Hermione took his wand from her skirt pocket and tossed it at his feet. The wooden stick seemed to roll toward him, drawn in by its master. Draco clicked his fingers and the wand jerked up before it slipped into his pocket.

“You got your wand,” she said, struggling to climb to her feet. “Now give me the cloak.”

“In time,” he said, coldly. “For a price.”

She placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. Her vision blurred from the blinding pain in her skull. “What price?”

Draco tucked the cloak under his arm and smirked at her. The expression had her blood boiling and heart racing. “A date,” he said.

“A date?” she shrilled, almost laughing. “You’re mad!”

Hermione grunted as he snatched her neck and hauled her closer to him. Her feet only just touched the ground as he lifted her face closer to his. His eyes glowed with danger as he looked down at her. “I can show you how mad I really am,” he whispered darkly.

“I want no such thing,” she wheezed – his grip had tightened around her neck. “I want no date with a creature like you, nor do I want to see any depths you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you have.”

He laughed, darkly, and released her. Hermione clutched her throat, but he kicked out his leg and swept her feet from under her. She landed on her side and cursed up at him.

“Bad mudblood,” he scolded with a grin. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”

With that, he stepped over her heaped form and disappeared around the corner.

 


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Sorry, folks, I’ve been seriously ill for a while now. I’m recovering in hospital, so for now ‘AKxx’ is helping me with these chapters in her rare spare time. She’ll be editing and posting Malevolence on my FF profile, too, for now. Most of this is getting done via emails between AK and I, so I thank you all for your patience.

I hope you enjoy the chapter. Reviews will be appreciated – they’ll give me something to read to pass the time in this dreadful white room.

* * *

Harry stormed up and down the quiet common room.

“You did what?!”

Hermione tapped her foot nervously on the floor. Her fingers dug into the soft arms of the chair. “I …”

“I can’t believe you, Hermione!” Harry booted a footrest away from the armchair. He then rounded on her. “I said, _don’t do anything without me._ I explicitly told you, _If you see Malfoy’s name, wait for me._ ”

Hermione’s jaw ticked before she slowly rose from the chair. Her glowering eyes reached up to his emerald ones. “You listen to me, Harry Potter,” she hissed. Harry faltered. “I don’t need your permission to anything. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I hardly expected to be found whilst under the invisibility of the cloak. That’s not on me.”

“Because of your stupid choice, my cloak is in Malfoy’s possession. Do you know what that means, Hermione?”

“It means that I will have to get it back.”

Harry cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “It means, ‘Mione,” he said quietly, “that one of the few things I have left of my dad is in Malfoy’s hands.”

Hermione licked her lips and looked down at the floor. She hadn’t thought of it that way. But, of course she hadn’t. Her only focus had been Malfoy’s attack and his peculiar – and unsettling – demands.

“I’ll get it back,” she promised.

“How?” he spat. “How do you propose to have Malfoy return one of _my_ personal belongings?”

Hermione sighed and dropped back down into the armchair. “He offered me a trade,” she said. “The cloak in exchange for …”

“In exchange for what?”

Her shoulders lifted as she shrugged. “A date.”

Hermione almost flinched as Harry kicked the footrest again. He’d gained a few eyes on him from the common room loiterers. Ginny, in particular, watched with undiluted interest.

Harry paced for a while. He was quiet, and Hermione remained silent, too, as he strode up and down by the fireplace. Soft murmurs of the other Gryffindors talking melted with the crackles of the simmering flames. Eventually, Harry fixed the footrest to stand in front of the armchair. He perched himself on it and fiddled with his round spectacles.

“A date,” he repeated, rolling the word with his slowly moving tongue. “What could he want with you that would require a date?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Though, she had her speculations and theories. But, until she knew anything for certain, she decided that Harry was strictly on a need-to-know basis. When it came to Malfoy, Harry was clouded.

“How do you feel about it?”

Hermione raised her brows. “Honestly?”

Harry nodded.

“I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied confidently. “He puts me on edge, I suppose, but I’m not frightened of a silly Slytherin as pathetic as Draco Malfoy.”

The words were empty, she realised, even as she spoke them. But Harry knowing how afraid Malfoy truly made her wouldn’t help anything.

“Then you’ll do it?” he asked. “You’ll do this … date?”

“I have to,” she agreed. “I don’t see any other way to get your cloak back. Not yet, at least.”

“It’s about more than the cloak, now.”

“Harry-” she began cautiously.

“No, listen to me,” he interrupted. “This date-whatever-it-is … It’s an _in_. An opportunity to get intel. Malfoy doesn’t have to tell you anything … But you can get answers, or try to. Observe him – figure out what he really wants with you.”

“And get the cloak back,” she finished.

Harry smiled lopsidedly. It was insincere, she noticed. “Yeah,” he said. “That, too.”

“What information are you after?” she asked suspiciously.

“I think he’s a death eater,” he said. Hermione rolled her eyes – she’d heard that line too many times before. Harry added, “And I think that, somehow, you weave into his plans. I want proof that he’s one of them – the mark, perhaps.”

“Oh, sure,” she laughed. “I’ll just ask him, I suppose. _Hey, Malfoy, do you mind showing me your forearms?_ ”

Harry scoffed and removed his glasses. He cleaned the lenses with his tie. Before he fitted them back on his face, he said, “You’re a lot smarter than that, Hermione. You’ll find a way.”

* * *

“A date?”

Hermione dropped her bag onto the table and slipped into the seat opposite. “That’s what I said, Zabini.”

The pureblood’s unreadable eyes betrayed nothing. “And you’re telling me because we’re such great friends?”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I need to discuss it, Zabini.”

“Potter and Weasley cannot assist you in the area of friendly advice?” he replied coolly. The tranquil iciness in his voice wrapped around her tense muscles.

“You know him,” she reasoned. Hermione clasped her hands together and rested them on the edge of the table. Her composure slipped into place. “You know how his mind works,” she added. “Harry and Ron … They’re ruled by their emotions, and their hatred for Malfoy. I can’t trust them to act rationally. I need logic.”

“Oh, Granger,” he said silkily. “I may blush.”

Hermione shot him a steady stare. “I want to know what I’m getting myself into here, Zabini. Why does he want to go on a date? What’s his end game?”

Blaise smiled and dropped his quill onto the pages of an open book. “While I appreciate the compliment,” he said, “I mightn’t be able to assist. I do not know how the mind of that particular mystery operates. Knowing Draco as a friend and knowing his deepest thoughts are two completely different matters.”

Blaise flipped the book shut, trapping the quill inside. He gathered his things and stood.

“Come by the lake after lunch,” he said. “I may have answers for you then.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously but nodded firmly. Any chance at answers was worth it – It could give her the advantage she needed in the dangerous dance with the devil she’d found herself in.

* * *

Lunch had been a tense affair. Hermione had picked at cucumber sandwiches, eating only the crust. It was her favourite part, the crust. She’d watched her fingers peel apart the brown strips of the bread to avoid the other productions going on around her.

Ron had spent the entire forty-five minutes having his face chewed off by Lavender. Cormac had sat himself a few seats up and suggestively licked his fingers clean whilst attempting to catch her gaze. It was repulsive. Harry, on the other hand, had decided that he was still furious with her. His silent words clawed at her eardrums. She couldn’t look at him, either.

Huffing quietly, Hermione dropped the crust to her plate and let her eyes roam around the Great Hall. The Slytherin table caught her attention. Blaise stood from his seat beside Malfoy and took a slender, pale hand in his own. Hermione dragged her stare up the arm to the girl it belonged to. Luna Lovegood.

Blaise boldly wrapped his fingers around Luna’s hand and escorted her out of the Hall. He seemed totally oblivious to the incredulous stares scattered around the students, especially the Slytherins. Though, some Slytherins appeared unfazed. Mainly Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, and, of course, Malfoy.

Hermione didn’t shudder when she locked eyes with Malfoy. The arctic eyes he bore held her gaze. But there wasn’t palpable malice in his eyes that time. Hermione doubted herself, but there seemed to be a question in them instead.  

Harry scooted closer to her and whispered into her ear, “He’s looking at you.”

Hermione wrenched her gaze from Malfoy’s darkening one. “I know, Harry.”

“Now’s your moment,” he whispered. “Tell him you want to go on the date.”

“What, _now?_ ” she choked out. “In front of the entire school, Harry?”

Harry thinned his lips. “Right. Sorry. Better do it later. After the bell, I guess.”

“Can’t,” she said, and grabbed her bag. “I have other plans.”

Harry went to inquire, or protest. But she’d snatched a luscious green apple and left before he could.

Malfoy’s eyes followed her out the Great Hall.

* * *

Hermione found Blaise where he’d said. The Black Lake. He lounged on the lush grass with his shoes kicked off. Luna pranced around in front of him, snatching thin air before stuffing it into a crystal blue jar.

She didn’t look up from the jar as she greeted, “Hello Hermione. Are you here to help capture wrackspurts?”

“Oh,” uttered Hermione. “No, Luna. I was hoping to have a word with Blaise, actually.”

Luna smiled dreamily at the jar before she skipped closer to the shore and searched the dirt for more invisible, non-existent creatures.

Hermione sat beside Blaise and folded her legs into a basket. Blaise didn’t so much as glance at her – he tranquilly watched Luna dig little holes on the shore.

“So,” said Hermione. “You and Luna, then. I didn’t see that coming.”

Blaise fleetingly allowed a sly smirk on his face. Hermione observed his profile studiously as it relaxed again.

“Care to explain?” she prompted.

“Not particularly,” he said, eyes fixed on Luna ahead. “There is nothing to explain.”

“You don’t seem like the ‘catch wrackspurt’ type,” she said.

“No,” he agreed with a slight nod. “But, I am the ‘humour my girl’ type.”

Hermione baulked and rested her wide eyes on the side of his face. “Your girl?” she repeated incredulously.

Blaise smiled, eyes still on Luna. “Perhaps I am getting a little ahead of myself. One day at a time, as they say.” He craned his neck and rolled his stiff shoulders. Slowly, he tore his eyes from Luna and met Hermione’s baffled stare. “Questions?”

“What?”

“You have questions,” he said. “That is why you came here, is it not?”

“I came here because you said you’d have answers.”

“I said I might have answers,” he corrected, and looked over at Luna. She hopped on the shore and snatched invisible insects from the air. “And I only have answers if you have questions to answer, Granger. That’s how it works.”

Exhaling through her flaring nostrils, Hermione straightened her spine. “Right,” she said. “Is he a death eater?”

The reaction she’d expected didn’t come. Blaise’s eyebrows didn’t raise in shock, his lips didn’t part in a gape, his muscles remained perfectly relaxed. He mulled over her question for a few moments, silently.

“Why do you ask?” he replied after a while.

“You said in potions,” she explained, “that you don’t wear Voldemort’s mark on your arm.”

Blaise turned his face to the side and swept his mocha eyes over her face.

Hermione added, “You said nothing about Malfoy.”

He smirked and met her curious stare. “That is a question you should ask Draco,” said Blaise. He paused and considered her. “You took my advice.”

“What?” she asked, frowning.

He explained, “Draco was in a tolerable mood today. He mentioned that he saw you last night. Put the pieces together, and the jigsaw is this – You’re the reason for his agreeability today.”

“I’m sure he’s done many things between seeing me last night and now,” she argued. “Not to mention, he might’ve simply woken up in a good mood. He might’ve dreamt about killing kittens and puppies. That would explain it.”

Blaise chuckled gently. “You said yourself, Granger. I know my friend. That is why you’ve come to me, is it not? Because I know Draco.”

“I came because you told me you might be able to answer my questions. So far, you’ve only gone off on little tangents that help me in no way at all.”

“I have given you enough information,” he said indifferently. “It is up to you whether you find them useful or irrelevant.”

His gaze flickered back to the shore. Luna had a jar of dirt now. Hermione fleetingly thought of a movie she’d seen last summer with her parents. Pirates of the Caribbean, it was, and the Pirate sang ‘I’ve got a jar of dirt’ in the face of a monster who couldn’t step on land. The jar did nothing to save the pirate, but it offered a sense of safety in perilous times.

Is that what Blaise was doing? Was he offering useless dirt to comfort her in a way?

“Now,” said Blaise. “I’ve said all that I will. If you don’t mind, I’d rather like to return to Lovegood.”

“Why?” she blurted. “Like I said before, you don’t seem the type to hunt wrackspurts and nargles with Luna Lovegood.”

“You are so blinded by your narrow perspective,” he said coldly. “To you, I am catching wrackspurts by the lake with a girl who carries an unjust reputation. To anyone who isn’t ruled by a narrow-mind, I am watching the girl of my affections spend a lovely day outdoors, enjoying an activity which brings her happiness.”

Blaise got to his feet and stretched his arms above his head. Hermione stood and glanced at the castle doors. A shadow moved between them.

Blaise looked at Hermione. “For your own good,” he said, “I suggest relieving yourself of your solid perspectives. That way, you may just be able to wriggle yourself out the corner you haven’t realised you’re trapped in yet.”

Blaise went to walk away, but Hermione grabbed his shirt. He sneered down at the crease. “What about the date?” she asked.

“All I have to comment on that,” he said and removed her fingers from his shirt, “is that you should’ve seen it coming. The fact that you didn’t merely shows the disadvantage you have and how vulnerable you are.”

Blaise jogged away to the shore. Hermione stayed on the grass and watched as he crouched down beside Luna in the water and helped her scoop out slimy pebbles.

It didn’t sit right with Hermione at all.

* * *

Hermione climbed the stairs to the foyer. Her free period was almost over, and she had double Arithmancy soon. Unfortunately, Malfoy was in that class. He was in most of her classes, as a matter of fact. It wasn’t a surprise.

A shadow loomed up the wall. It gave his position away before he could slam her against another wall. Hermione whipped around and backed up. Malfoy advanced from grounds. He must’ve been watching her and Blaise on the grass.

Her fingers shook slightly. She clenched them to hide it.

His black sweater covered his crisp white shirt, and smoothed over the muscles beneath. Though, his usually combed blonde hair was a little unkempt that day, as if he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times in the past hour at least.

Malfoy’s eyes raked over her uniform. “How is your arm?” he asked casually. But, she heard – no, _felt_ – the needles in his prickly tone.

Her arm ached at the memory of his assault. “I want the cloak back,” she hissed.

“You know how to earn it back,” he said, slowly approaching her.

Hermione stopped at the bottom of the main staircase and folded her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she said. “One time only, Malfoy. One date, and I get the cloak.”

“Deal,” he said, his voice as cold as his icy eyes.

“And,” she added, holding up her hand. “I pick where we have this date, and when.”

Malfoy smiled – a rare sight – and placed his hands in his pockets. He advanced, stopping only when he towered over her. “Not likely,” he whispered and bowed over her. Hermione raised her chin and met his cool eyes. “Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “On the Quidditch Pitch at precisely midnight.”

He lowered his head, and she stiffened. His lips neared hers and sucked in the shaky breath she released. But, then he was gone, leaving behind a frazzled Hermione and a whisper of his derisive laugh in his place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got a few readers, but not many reviews compared to followers. Is it the chapter length? I try to go for quality over quantity. I hate when chapters are 4,000 words long, but just full of dull filler nonsense. There’s a writer on here that I follow, and I read all her stories, but when she does update her fics, I find that I pass over the majority of the material to get to the important/good parts. Mostly she just writes interactions that reiterate what happened in the last chapters, rather than focusing the story ahead. But, if you would all prefer the filler material, let me know. Feedback is welcome and wanted.
> 
> At the moment, I’m still in hospital, bored. I hope to get back into the swing of things soon.
> 
> Also, please remember the warnings. This is a dark story with an even darker Draco. Ye be warned!!

 

Blaise crouched down beside the fireplace and clicked his fingers. Flames erupted from the stack of wooden logs and kindling. Normally, he preferred the house elves to build the fire each morning, but he couldn’t wait much longer that frosty morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet, the elves wouldn’t come for a few hours. Even the windows dripped with the evidence of condensation.

The residents of the dormitory were awake already. One hadn’t been to sleep yet – Theodore. He stumbled in, wearing the fragrance of sex and Knottgrass Mead; a cheaper drink that Blaise considered common.

Blaise rose to his feet and stretched his bare arms above his head. Draco emerged from the attached bathroom, rubbing a damp towel against his soaked hair. He and Blaise had business to attend to that morning.

“Mornin’,” said Theodore groggily. His puffy eyes wore the signs of sleep deprivation.

“Good night?” asked Draco cordially. His tone matched the iciness of his eyes, as well as Blaise’s chilled skin. Blaise added more wood to the fire and lingered nearby to relish in the warmth.

“Same old,” said Theodore. “Bettin’ yours was better.”

“You’d be wrong,” replied Blaise.

“Problems in your artificial paradise?” quipped Draco. He dropped the towel, displaying his nudity proudly, and changed into jeans and a t-shirt.

“I shouldn’t have lowered Luna’s dosage so early,” said Blaise. “I thought that by lessening the amount I slipped her, her emotional response would transition into a natural reaction.”

“That,” agreed Theodore, “and you’re all out.”

Blaise glanced at the nightstand where the vials of love potion resided. But the small bottles were, as Theo had said, empty. “I’ll pick up some more at Hogsmeade come Saturday. Shouldn’t be an issue. The potions in her system will deplete, but some should still be coursing through her by then.”

“What’s happening, then?” asked Theodore. Draco moisturised beside his own bed. “Is she rejecting you? Realising that you’re an arse?”

“Not in so many words. But her caution is resurfacing.” Blaise stood and stretched his tired limbs. The heat from the fireplace spread around the room, and his chill had begun to dissipate. “It shouldn’t be an issue. Luna won’t realise what is happening to her – she’ll think her behaviour down to magical creatures that don’t exist.”

Theodore snickered derisively as Draco combed his pale blond hair to the side.

“You find the situation of others humorous,” said Draco. “Yet, you have failed to settle on your own prize.”

“All the good ones are taken,” he said. “Blaise has got Luna, you’ve got Granger, Pucey’s claimed the Weasellete. The ones that left aren’t worth the hassle.”

“Only if you bother courting them,” said Draco darkly. “When the time comes, you can claim your prize, and forget the repercussions. Blaise has chosen to court and seduce his prematurely, but it isn’t necessary.”

“What about you, Drake?” said Theodore challengingly. “Aren’t you finding time to woo your mudblood between classes, essays, and your oh-so-secret mission?”

Blaise tutted from his bed, whilst filing his nails. “Thoughtless Theodore – prying into Draco’s secret mission can get you killed before you even have the chance to pick a prize from the pile. I advise you exercise a smidgen of caution.”

“We’re around friends,” said Theodore unashamedly.

“Friends who will slit your throat without a second thought,” winked Blaise.

Draco slipped his arms into a fitted sweater before he pulled it over his head. “Ready?”

“Give a man a moment to get pretty,” replied Blaise. He slid off the bed and fiddled with his impeccably combed hair in the mirror.

“Where you off to so early?” asked Theodore.

“Final touches,” said Blaise cryptically. “We should be gone a while. Don’t wait up.”

Theodore smirked. “And I suppose you’re finishing off your day with Luna luring?”

“Not me,” said Blaise innocently. “But Draco does have a most anticipated engagement lined up at midnight.”

Theodore turned his stare to Draco. “What happened to seducing them once they’re ours?”

A rare, frightening smile graced his lips. Theo felt a pang of anxiety strike his stomach.

Darkly, Draco asked, “Who said anything about seduction?”

* * *

“Ow!” said Ron. “Ger off, Harry!”

Harry muttered an apology and removed his heel from Ronald’s toes. It was a cramped space, the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. Each step was crooked and crumbling from decay. But Harry and Ron climbed the wobbly steps, side-by-side, and each held their wands in their hands.

“This better not take too long,” moaned Ron. He wasn’t happy about being snared into the scheme. He made it known. “Lav wanted to hang out tonight. If we’re quick, I can get back to the common room before she goes to bed.”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Harry. “There’s more to life than snogging Lavender Brown.”

“I know that. But she’s not just ‘Lavender Brown’, mate. She’s my girlfriend. I’d like for you and Hermione to get used to that.”

“What d’you mean by that?” grunted Harry. They reached the top of the stairs, and entered the circular stone room. Harry wandered to the glassless window and looked outside.

“Don’t think I don’t know,” said Ron. “You and Hermione … Well, it’s always been the three of us. But now, with Lavender, I’m not around as much as I used to be. But you both think it’ll pass. It won’t. I really like her.”

Harry shook his head subtly. “You really like snogging her, you mean.”

“It’s something you do with your girlfriend,” said Ron, and he joined Harry by the draughty window. “Look, I know what Hermione thought. About me and her … And now, with Lav–”

Harry but in, “Merlin, Ron! I don’t give a shit what you do with Lavender. Go out with her, eat her face, let her eat yours. Who gives a shit? Not me, and not Hermione. We’re focusing on bigger things, and you should be too. But, instead, you’re waffling on about your girlfriend _again_.”

Harry paused and stepped to the side. He smacked his palm against the window.

“Look outside,” he snapped. Ron rolled his eyes and poked his head out of the window. “See that?” asked Harry. “That’s Hermione with _Malfoy_. That’s why we’re here – what we should be focusing on. Not you, or your stupid relationship. We’re here to keep an eye out on Hermione. That’s it. So pull your head out of your arse and at least pretend you give a damn about her.”

Ron turned his piercing blue eyes on Harry. Hotly, he said, “If you cared so much about Hermione, you wouldn’t have sent her down there with Malfoy in the first place. It’s not like Malfoy’s just gonna hand over his secrets to her, show her his dark mark, and be like ‘Yeah, sure thing Granger, I’ll sign a full confession, and hope you can visit me in Azkaban when the mood strikes!’.”

Harry stared levelly at him. “It’s Hermione we’re talking about. She’ll be fine.”

A cold, silky voice slithered from behind them. “Not for long.”

The words jolted them with fright and made them both spin around with their wands whipped out.

But it was too late.

* * *

The soft material crinkled between her fingers. Hermione fiddled with the picnic blanket and eyed her companion warily. Each move Malfoy made had her muscles tense and fingers itching to hex. But, he smoothly poured her a glass of butterbeer and handed it to her – no hexes required, yet.

Hermione never much cared for the Quidditch pitch. She wasn’t an active fan of the sport it was meant for, and barely enjoyed watching the game unfold. It wasn’t any different at night – it was only a pitch in darkness.

Malfoy seemed to think she’d feel otherwise. The stars above twinkled, the pitch was vacant and smoothly calm, the picnic blanket – made of fine material – was decorated by plates of snacks and bottles of drinks. It could be considered romantic to some. But to Hermione? Most certainly not.

His eyes were to blame. The grey glowed beneath the moonlight, highlighting the cruelty that shadowed them. He wasn’t trying to woo her, to court her, to stir feelings. His endgame was entirely opposite – he was evoking fear in the calmest, sweetest, nicest of ways.

“You’re not thirsty?” he asked, and eyed the untouched glass of butterbeer in her hand.

“No,” she said. “Not particularly.”

“Drink,” was his response, cold and demanding.

Hermione sipped the warm liquid, but watched him over the rim of the glass. He saluted with his, barely, and swigged. It was uncomfortable, awkward. She itched to leave, but felt a little reassured that Harry and Ron were in the Astronomy Tower watching over her.

“Here I am,” she said. She put the glass on a plate. “I held up my end of the deal. Where’s the cloak?”

Draco’s fingers drummed against the leather bag at his side. It was in there, where the picnic snacks and blanket had been moments ago.

Hermione held out her hand. Malfoy smirked, and scolded lightly, “Oh, I don’t think so, Granger. I give you this now, and our date is over before it has even begun. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Because you’re right. I want nothing more than to leave. Not only is this extraordinarily awkward, I simply don’t like you. I don’t enjoy your company.”

“Even after I go to so much effort to please you,” he said with insincere sadness, “you show no appreciation.”

Hermione laughed derisively. “This, all of this – the stars, the full moon, the picnic on the Quidditch Pitch – is fake. It isn’t real, it’s false. A charade.”

“And if it is?” he asked. “What would be the purpose? Every charade has a purpose, does it not?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” she said darkly.

“Please,” he smirked.

A silence fell. Hermione looked up at the sky, if only to avoid his heated stare. His eyes lingered on her face, and refused to drift elsewhere. After a while, whether it be seconds or minutes, he shattered the quiet between them.

“When I was young,” he said, rolling up his sleeves, “I had a sister.”

Hermione, startled, looked at him. The curiousness shone in her eyes, and through the darkness of the night. He only calmly returned her stare. His eyes betrayed nothing. She glanced down at his forearms, searching for any sings of the dark mark. But his skin … it wasn’t smooth, but it was blurred. As though a glamour charm coated it.

“Her name was Cassiopia. We called her Cassie.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Hermione suspiciously, quickly scanning his arms again.

“Why would you?” he replied icily. “Not many are privy to the knowledge of my life, or, more specifically, my past.”

“And you have decided that I should be privy?”

A flash of danger ignited his eyes. They glowed through the darkness. Hermione gulped discreetly, and resisted her gaze from moving to the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy’s eyes were too steady, they burned into hers, reading her secrets.

“Cassie,” he continued, “was what a Malfoy female should be. Stunning, powerful, and cunning. She was only one year younger than myself.”

He paused and sipped his butterbeer. Hermione took the chance to squint through the night and inspect his arms. But the way he moved, she barely rested her gaze on where the dark mark would be.

“When I was seven years old, my father purchased me a Nimbus 1000. It was the first of its kind. Fast, dangerous, and not to be released for another six months.”

Hermione noted that there wasn’t an ounce of bragging in his tone. He was just telling her how it was – stating facts. It was a sharp contrast to the Malfoy she’d known throughout the years, the whiny boy who bragged and boasted whenever he had the chance. Now, he was a cold man, filled with indifference, and it showed in his cool tone.

“Theodore wrote to me the day after,” he said. “He demanded that he visit at once to assess the quality of the broom. I allowed it, eager to display it. He came, we took turns flying it, we played a spot of Quidditch. Of course, that lasted an estimated twenty minutes or so.”

Hermione made no attempt to refrain the weary sigh that whooshed out of her. His simmering eyes burned into her, but he continued as if she hadn’t been rude.

“Cassie came outside,” he added. “And the moment she did, Theodore flocked to her. She was, after all, the true reason Theodore wished to visit. I realised that when I watched him join my dear sister and forget that the Nimbus 1000 had even existed. I followed, but I didn’t attempt to join in in their fun. What Cassie considered fun, I thought dull and tedious – playing with porcelain dolls, drawing on the walls.”

“Amazing story,” mumbled Hermione. Her eyes shifted to the bag where the cloak resided. Was it time to leave yet? Could she have the cloak returned now? Time dragged by her, mocked her.

“It is far from over,” replied Malfoy. The dangerous warning to his tone demanded her gaze. She shivered under the intensity of his stare. Her fingers inched into her robes, where they sat folded beside her. Wood grazed her fingertips – her wand. Now, she’d wait until he was distracted enough for her to issue a quiet anti-glamour charm. She was certain that he was concealing the dark mark on his arm, and the main purpose of the date was for her to clarify his position in the Death Eater Army.

“I waited,” he said, “until Cassie grew tired of Theodore. Normally, that took perhaps an hour or so. With Blaise, Cassie wouldn’t tire for hours. Sometimes, not at all. She was truly fond of Blaise, and he her. But Theodore? Not as much.”

He placed the butterbeer on the plate, where Hermione’s stood untouched.

“When Theodore returned to the gardens, I was there, waiting. He feigned interest in the broom again, but I could see the wounds in his eyes. He wanted to return to Cassie.”

Malfoy leaned forward and plucked a sugar stick from a bowl. He offered it to Hermione, but the glint in his eyes showed that it wasn’t a request. She took it reluctantly and suckled the end. Malfoy smirked and draped his forearm over his knee, looking rather like an arrogant prince.

“I essentially forced Theodore to ride the broom once more before he left. He did, and I waited patiently for my moment. It wasn’t until he flew way higher than the tallest tower of Malfoy Manor that I struck.”

The end of the sugar stick hovered near Hermione’s lips. She gaped at the calm cruelty that came from his words, and radiated from his sharp eyes.

“I hexed the broom, and it bucked him off. I watched him fall from the sky, hit walls and roofs, until he crashed through the skylight of the indoor pool. Had he not have been above the pool, he would have died, I imagine. He was very lucky.”

“You were seven?” she whispered, aghast. She clutched her wand within the concealment of the robes and aimed it at him. He didn’t seem to notice. “And you tried to kill your friend? Out of jealousy?”

“Jealousy,” he repeated with a hint of curiosity. As though he’d never heard the word before, and rolled it around it tongue to get a feel for it. “I don’t know it,” he added. “The definition, I know; but, the meaning? Not entirely.”

Draco grabbed the second bottle of butterbeer and filled his own glass. He topped up hers, too, but there was no need.

Hermione dropped the sugar stick, and mouthed the words to her spell. Draco stiffened, just as black grew at his inner forearm. Hermione shoved her wand back into her robes and feigned innocence. She stretched her arms above her head, desperate to hide the fear in her eyes as the dark mark grew on his arm. She made to stand, and issue her departure. She couldn’t sit with the psychopath another moment. Before she could climb to her feet, a shriek tore through her.

Hermione was slammed into the dirt at the edge of the blanket. Her skull thudded off the soggy soil, and the puddle she landed in splashed up around her. Dirt splattered her face, as well as the one who mirrored her – Draco pinned her to the mud by the wrists, and snarled down at her.

The thud of her heart thrummed in her eardrums. Her wide eyes gazed up at his narrowed ones, and her body welcomed the shivers that ran down her.

“I hurt Theodore, not out of jealousy,” he whispered, coldly. “But due to his deceit. The false intentions of which he visited, the lies that coated his visit. Had he have stated that he wished to visit my sister, no harm would’ve come to him. Yet, he lied to me, _used_ me to get to something else.”

“Malfoy, get off–” Hermione’s softly spoken words were thwarted. His face suddenly drew closer, until their noses touched – and he hissed a threatening sound against her lips, like a snake would do before it struck. Warning or no warning, he would strike either way.

“Shut up, mudblood,” he seethed. The fury swirled in his eyes. “Lest you meet the fate that Theodore did. But, will be as lucky as he was?”

“I didn’t lie to you,” she said. “I was honest about why I accepted the date offer. I want the cloak – it was our _deal_.”

The darkness didn’t fade from his eyes; it was like watching melted iron bubble and churn within pits of black. The shudders didn’t relent; they took root in her spine and almost rattled her against the mud she lay in. But Harry and Ron would help – they would see from the tower, and fire hexes down at Malfoy. She had nothing to fear. Yet, if that were true, why was her body quaking beneath his?

“You were honest about that,” he whispered dangerously, “the same way Theo was honest about viewing the broom. What you really wanted,” his face inched closer and their lips touched, “was to know if I wore this.”

Slowly, her eyes strained in their sockets to look at the black blur. His forearms lay in the mud beside her head, flanking her, as he gripped her wrists tightly. There it was, clear as the stars in the night sky, darker than Malfoy’s soul. The dark mark.

A scream escaped her as he suddenly snatched her hair and hoisted her up. Malfoy stood, yanking her back against his chest, and tugged her hair back until her neck threatened to snap. They faced the Astronomy Tower. His lips touched her ear as she shivered, coated in mud, and he hushed softly.

“I never did mind the mud,” he whispered. “I often enjoyed playing in it, when I was young.”

“If you don’t release me, Malfoy, I swear-”

A burst of light exploded in her eyes. It was pain; blinding, and agonising. Her lips parted, but couldn’t issue screams or cries. All that came were whimpers.

Draco had snatched her arm and twisted it around her back. Something had popped in her arm – it hadn’t dislocated, but it was close to it. tears welled in her eyes as she silently cried, looking up at the tower, begging Harry and Ron to help. But they didn’t.

And Hermione knew why when Malfoy growled into the air, “If there is one thing I loathe more than being cheated, Granger, it’s having an audience whilst being cheated.”

Suddenly, the entire castle erupted in a thunderous boom. It seemed to shake in the ground – it _did_ shake in the ground. Hermione wobbled. Malfoy was the only thing keeping her upright. That is, until he struck the back of her head with such force that she was knocked out immediately, and collapsed to the ground in a limp heap.


End file.
